


Dragon's Blood

by mille_libri



Series: Dragon [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the body of a red-haired scout is found in Skyhold, Ren Trevelyan and the Iron Bull are drawn into the hunt for the killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Changes

Raising a glowing fist, Ren Trevelyan knocked on the door of the War Room for the first time ever. She had officially stepped down as Inquisitor yesterday, in favor of Ser Robert Morris, former Quartermaster of the Inquisition. Everyone involved had agreed that his skill set was far more suited to a more diplomatically focused Inquisition than Ren’s, now that Corypheus was dead. She had spent the last month training him, working in tandem with him as he got used to the role.

Today, she and the Iron Bull had been invited to join the War Room meeting to make sure the transition had gone smoothly and answer any final questions Morris might have. They would stay on in Skyhold for another week, and then they would leave for the little house on the Storm Coast Ren had been given in gratitude for her service to the Inquisition. She and the Iron Bull intended to relaunch the Chargers as Ferelden’s premier mercenary corps, but only after they spent a few blissful weeks entirely alone … having sex on every available surface.

After a moment, the door opened. “My, that is strange,” Josephine said, smiling, as she ushered Ren and the Iron Bull into the room.

“Strange for you?” Ren chuckled. “Imagine how it feels for me.” She glanced around the room, settling on Morris’s face, his eyes wide as he stared down at the War Table. “How are you holding up, Robert? I mean, Inquisitor.”

“Maker. How do you keep the location of all these pieces straight in your head?”

“I didn’t; I relied on Cullen’s impeccable memory for that.”

“I am so pleased I could be of service,” Cullen said wryly.

The Iron Bull folded his arms, looking down at the table. “So this is what it looks like,” he said. He cast a sideways glance at Ren, who hid a laugh in a cough, or tried to. He knew perfectly well what the War Table looked like. They had snuck in one night and proceeded to see if it could hold up under some very vigorous activity. What’s more, Cullen knew it. His ears were bright red. Had Leliana been here, she would have laughed, no doubt, but she was in Val Royeaux, undergoing preparations to be named the next Divine.

Josephine, oblivious to the subtext, flipped a page over on her ever-present board. “I believe the most important question for the assembled company is what we can expect over the next week with the change in Inquisitors.”

“In a word, assassins,” the Iron Bull said.

“I agree.” Cullen frowned. “I would like to think our security is such that we wouldn’t have to worry, but—“

The Iron Bull finished for him, “No such thing.”

“Exactly.”

“I would have to agree,” Morris said, looking at the table thoughtfully. “With me so new to the work, certain factions may see this as an opportunity to create chaos within the Inquisition, and how better than by leaving it leaderless? Although I believe the danger will be greater in the first weeks after our friend here has taken her leave.”

“You mean as long as I’m here, if anything happens to you, I’ll have to step back up into the job?” Ren turned to the Iron Bull in mock desperation. “Let’s go, right now!”

“Whatever you say, boss.” It was only partly a joke; he was as anxious to leave as she was, and as filled with anticipation to be in their own space.

“No, no,” Morris said. “You’re not getting away that easily! I … I’ll be fine,” he said, as Josephine and Cullen both turned to look at him sharply. “But I’m not quite ready to do this job entirely on my own.”

“Don’t worry,” Ren told him, “I’ll stay for another couple of weeks. Hopefully we can work on beefing up security in the meantime.”

“You might want to have someone stay in your quarters with you for the first month or so,” the Iron Bull said thoughtfully. “Someone you trust.”

Morris’s face turned pink. He and Dorian had been trysting more or less secretly for some time. Of course, that wasn’t going to last, Ren knew. The Inquisitor sleeping with a Tevinter mage was only slightly less disastrous than the Inquisitor sleeping with a Qunari. Her gain had almost certainly been Morris’s loss. But then, he had known that going into the job; she hoped he was prepared for the consequences, more than she had been. 

“I will … look into it,” Morris said.

“It is a good idea, any joking aside. You are most vulnerable when you sleep, and while that is a reasonably secure set of rooms, nothing is entirely so.” Cullen looked earnestly at the new Inquisitor. “I will, of course, detail guards to remain at your door for the first month or so, but someone you trust in the room with you would be better.”

“We should also assign the Inquisitor personal guards, both seen and … not so seen,” Josephine said. She sighed. “I wish Varric would agree to come on board as the official spymaster, but he insists he is unsuited to the task.” Glancing at the Iron Bull, she sighed again, rather pointedly.

“Not a chance,” he said flatly. “Doesn’t Leliana have any good people who can step up to the job?”

“None that I know of,” Cullen said. “The system runs fairly well, and I have been overseeing it, but … I am hardly cut out to be a spymaster.”

“No shit.” The Iron Bull grinned, and Cullen smiled reluctantly.

“I’ll have guards assigned to you, Inquisitor, and a few watchers you won’t necessarily see.”  
Morris frowned at him, glancing at Ren and then back at his advisors. “I don’t remember seeing a guard retinue around the Inquisitor before.”

“Our friend here is a trained fighter,” Cullen told him. “A very good one. And almost from the beginning had a Qunari at her side constantly.” He nodded in the direction of the Iron Bull. “While I know you are experienced in the training ring, you have done very little fighting in less … studious situations. Another area we should work on.”

Morris was looking rather panicked, and Ren smiled, putting a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. Listen to what they tell you and they’ll keep you alive and at the top of your game.”

Cullen nodded at her, smiling. “Thank you.”

“No, really, thank you. I’d have fallen on my face or been poisoned or gotten myself killed, or all three, on a daily basis without you.”

“Our pleasure,” Josephine said softly.

After some more discussion of safety and various details that had been missed in the changeover, Ren and the Iron Bull left the others to their meeting, ambling side by side through the keep and down the stone stairs to the courtyard.

“ _Kadan_ ,” the Iron Bull said abruptly. “Something that didn’t come up in there.”

“What’s that?”

“Morris isn’t the only one suddenly a lot more vulnerable.”

Ren stopped and looked up at him. “You mean me?”

“To a lot of people, you still are the face of the Inquisition. Others blame you specifically for the Inquisition’s actions and decisions. Still more would like to take the power in the Anchor for themselves. I think you’re far more likely to be a target than he is.”

“Why didn’t you say so in there?”

He shrugged. “You’re not their problem anymore. Or their responsibility. Oh, neither of them want to see something happen to you, but if it came down to you or him—no question now which they would choose.” 

“How nice for me.”

Stepping closer, the Iron Bull closed his big hands gently on her shoulders. “That’s what you’ve got me for, kadan. Nothing’s gonna take you away from me. Ever.”

Ren looked up at him, from the sheer size of him to the power in the hands and arms that held her so gently to the scarred and somewhat forbidding, unquestionably unusual, face, to the horns that branched out high above her head. She smiled. “Some people might find that as frightening as the alternative.”

“Yeah, but you know different. No one comes into that room but you and me … but the bolt’s on the inside, and you can lift it whenever you want to.”

“I don’t want to. You know that.”

“Good.”

He let her go, running one hand over her hair caressingly. “So it sounds like you don’t have much of a job description these next couple of weeks other than being available if Morris—if the Inquisitor needs you.’

“Sounds about right.”

“I’d say we should spend most of it in bed, but…”

“I know.” Ren frowned. “Damn small bed.” They were sharing his old quarters at the top of the tavern.

“Thin walls, too.”

“And here I thought we’d established that people trained by the Ben-Hassrath could control themselves.” She grinned at him.

“I can … it’s just not as much fun.”

“I’ll give you that,” Ren agreed. “It’s only for a couple more weeks, and then we’re off. Storm Coast, private beach, just the two of us …”

The Iron Bull closed his eye. He’d had quite a few very satisfying fantasies about having his way with her in the ocean, the waves lapping over them as they came together. “I suppose I can wait a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t know what other choice you have.”

“I could kidnap you and run away with you.”

“And leave poor Morris to sink or swim?”

The Iron Bull shrugged. “I don’t remember anyone helping you ease into the job.”

“Don’t you? I do. I couldn’t have done it without him.” The light in her eyes made it clear she was talking about him, and he smiled.

“Not quite the same.”

“I know. Morris is stuck with me.” Ren took his hand for a moment, giving the fingers a brief squeeze. “Speaking of … I’m supposed to go talk to Master Dennet about the stock, and what we need. He’s a bit … set in his ways, and is having some trouble accepting Morris as the Inquisitor.”

“He won’t be the only one,” the Iron Bull warned her.

“They’ll all get used to it. Eventually. Which is why we’re only staying a couple of weeks, so everyone has to adjust.” Ren let go of his hand. “I promise.”

The Iron Bull watched her go, her free-swinging stride and the bounce in her step making him smile. She seemed so much lighter and freer now than she had been—he didn’t know if that was from killing Corypheus at last, or from having given up the job of Inquisitor to Morris, or if it was his own influence, but he loved to watch her so happy and full of energy.

She practically skipped down the steps toward the lower courtyard. When she was out of sight, the Iron Bull turned back toward the tavern.

Krem was waiting for him at their back table, papers spread out. The Iron Bull sat down next to his second-in-command. “What’ve we got, Krem de la crème?”

“As much work as we can handle, Chief. The Inquisition by itself can keep us busy for the rest of the year, and then there’s the rest of it. We left a pretty big gap in the market when we signed on here.” He looked at the Iron Bull with some curiosity. “You have any idea when you and Ren will be ready to get back to work?”

The Iron Bull sighed. “Never?”

Krem laughed. “I know what you mean.” He hesitated. “Did I mention that Flissa and I are planning to take a bit of a vacation in Val Royeaux while you and the Inquisitor are occupied?”

“No; I wasn’t sure if she was leaving the Inquisition when Ren does.” Flissa had been the bartender in Haven; when they came to Skyhold, Ren had hired her on as personal assistant to the Inquisitor. She and Krem made each other very happy.

“She is; she’s coming with us. And … Chief …”

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking—thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“You don’t say. What brought this on?”

His lieutenant shrugged. “Things are changing, and there are a lot of questions. I don’t want this to be one of them.”

“Yeah, I get that. Good for you, Krem. I’m … proud of you.”

“Thanks, Chief. I, um … wondered if you wouldn’t mind standing up as my best man.”

The Iron Bull grinned to cover how touched he was by the request. “Can’t think of a better one.”

“Neither can I. That mean you’ll do it?”

“Of course. Happy to.” The Iron Bull frowned. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you, if you haven’t even asked yet?”

“I suppose.” Krem blushed a little. “I’m just assuming I know what the answer will be.”

“You’re probably right. Still, best not to get too cocky.” Not for the first time, he wondered about Ren. Would she want that kind of thing someday? He was no longer of the Qun, but he wasn’t Andrastean, either. For that matter, neither was she. That seemed to suggest that neither of them was a candidate for marriage, but where did that leave them, relationship-wise? They had never really talked about the future or any kind of formal agreement. Once they were on the Storm Coast, alone, maybe then it would be time for that talk.

He and Krem returned to their paperwork, scheduling some routine clean-up and patrol work for the Chargers during the time they would both be busy. By mutual agreement, they put Dalish in charge as the smartest of the small cadre of core Chargers. She wasn’t great at hiding her magic, but she was a good manager and very effective when it came to keeping her fellow Chargers in line.

Krem cleaned up the papers and took them upstairs to his room, and the Iron Bull made his way to the bar and ordered an ale from Cabot, the dwarven bartender.

“Busy tonight,” Cabot observed. “Happy people drink more.”

“Sometimes.” The Iron Bull had seen it happen the other way, too—anger and despair and sorrow also had a tendency to cause people to drink. Maryden the bard was back, tuning up her lyre, and he sighed. Maryden was nice enough, but her songs were too busy being deep to be tuneful; most of them sounded sad, which had hardly been what the Inquisition had needed in the depths of the war. 

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had had that thought. Next to him, a woman’s voice with a hint of an Antivan accent said, “Your bard seems unaware that the Inquisition won its war. Or perhaps she is focusing on the wrong aspects of victory.”

He turned to look at her. The fact that she had chosen to place herself on his blind side told him something about her; most people chose to sit on the right so he could see them more easily out of his one remaining eye. “I’m told some people find the emphasis on sorrow more meaningful.”

“Sad for them. They are missing so much that makes life worth living.” Warm brown eyes looked up at him. “You are with the Inquisition?”

“You could say that.” Technically, neither he nor Ren were still part of the Inquisition, but the ties were strong. He imagined it would be a long time before they truly left the Inquisition, if they ever did. 

He studied the woman next to him. She was very thin, almost painfully so, with a lot of jet-black hair surrounding her face. It almost obscured the pointed tips of her ears, but not entirely. He wondered idly if she was a Crow. The idea had crossed his mind that some of Ren’s enemies might try to get to her through him, but if that was the case, they’d find he was a tougher nut to crack than they appeared to have thought. 

“You’re new around here,” he observed.

“I have heard so much about the Inquisition, I could not help but see for myself.” She had shifted a bit closer to him. She put a hand on her leg, splayed such that the fingertips brushed his thigh.

The Iron Bull didn’t move. It felt pretty good to be picked up, if only for the chance to stretch his intellect a bit to determine what she wanted. 

“I had no idea it was so … powerful.” The fingers shifted a bit closer to him.

“Yeah? Glad to see we measure up to your standards.”

The elf smiled, acknowledging his move in this chess match they were starting up, and shifted a bit closer to him.

On her way back to the tavern, Ren stopped in Cullen’s office. He looked up at her with a harassed smile. “Oh, it’s you, Inq—Ren. What can I do for you?”

“Stop calling me Inquisitor, for one thing,” she said tartly. “I expected better from you.”

His smile widened and became more genuine as he sat back in his chair. “I will try harder, but I make no promises.”

“I suppose that’s the best I can ask for.” Ren sank down in the chair across from his desk. “Cullen, is Morris ready for this?”

“Truthfully?” He sighed. “No. But you weren’t, either, and you managed. He will, as well. Don’t let his first stumbles keep you from living the life you’ve chosen.”

“Easier said than done.”

Cullen chuckled. “It is that.”

“I’m going to the tavern for a drink. You want to come?”

He gestured at the piles of papers on his desk. “If I can get through that in a timely manner, perhaps.”

Ren grinned. “I know a brush-off when I hear one. I’m going.”

She left him hard at work again, glad to have checked in on him, if only briefly. When Leliana had been named Divine, she had broken off the semi-secret relationship that had existed between herself and Cullen. The former Templar had been prepared to see it end, but still … he was still suffering from the effects of his decision to go off lyrium, and without Leliana at his side, Ren worried for the consequences. If she could lure him out into the rest of Skyhold more often, she could leave knowing at least he would be in the right hands.

As she came down the stairs into the main room of the tavern, Maryden was just finishing another of her long, sorrowful songs. The bard looked up as Ren came around the bottom of the stairs. 

“Ah, there you are!”

“Yes. Here I am.” Ren stopped, wondering what it was that Maryden wanted. They’d never been particularly good friends; had, in fact, rarely exchanged more than a greeting in passing.

“Can I play something special for you? This being your first official ‘day off’, so to speak.” Maryden smiled.

“Oh. Well, that’s kind of you.” Ren glanced up the stairs, seeing Sera’s door open, and grinned. “Play the Sera song. I like the beat of that one.”

“Anything for you, my lady. I … was wondering …” Maryden began, and hesitated.

Over her shoulder, Ren could see the back of a slender woman with a long fall of rich black hair, leaning toward the Iron Bull, who was turned halfway around in his seat to look at her. She was sitting on his blind side, granted, but still … their heads were very close together. She tore her eyes away to look back at Maryden. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“It was nothing. Never mind.” Maryden flushed a little and began playing the “Sera Was Never” song, which Ren had chosen as much because she knew it drove Sera nuts as because she liked the tune.

Forgetting all about the bard, she made her way to the bar, where the woman was shaking back her hair, exposing a pointed elven ear, and laughing low in her throat at something the Iron Bull had said.

Ren didn’t think he would do anything that would hurt her; but she didn’t like seeing another woman hanging on him this way. She must be a newcomer to Skyhold—everyone else knew perfectly well that the big Qunari was an extremely taken man. And this woman was going to learn that lesson, and learn it well, Ren thought, striding toward the pair of them. She slid a caressing hand across the Iron Bull’s broad, scarred back, wedging her body between the two of them.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend, lover?” she asked him, using a deliberately intimate purr as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

The Iron Bull grinned, clearly aware of her jealousy, and he turned further in his seat so he could see her with his good eye. “Didn’t ask her name; she’d only have lied to me anyway.”

“Probably so. But I think your Inquisitor may find it a more familiar one than she imagines.” The woman’s voice was indeed familiar. 

Ren looked more closely at her, and broke into a delighted grin. “Zadra? Is it really you?” Ren looked deeply into her former mentor’s eyes, finding Zadra older and thinner than she remembered, but there was the same warmth there. “I can’t believe it!” The two embraced for a long moment, holding on to one another tightly.

They had first met years ago, when Ren and her father’s captain of the guard, Brandt, had run off to be raiders with a man called Dooley. Zadra had been Dooley’s lover, and on Brandt’s death in battle, the two of them had taken Ren into their tent and comforted her in every way they could, teaching her a great deal about life and love in the process. Dooley had later been killed in a raid gone wrong; Ren had been thrown in jail afterward, and then sent to the Chantry by her father, which had led to her presence at the Conclave. She had never known what became of Zadra after that.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I heard you were running this spectacle down here and I wanted to see if they were taking proper care of you.” Zadra winked at the Iron Bull. “I had no luck tempting this one; you seem to have found yourself a good man here.”

“That I have.” Ren glanced at the Iron Bull, who was watching them both with that enigmatic former Ben-Hassrath look he got when he didn’t fully trust the people he was with. She couldn’t blame him. Zadra’s sudden appearance at Skyhold, and her choice to approach the Iron Bull rather than find Ren, were a bit suspicious. “Zadra, where have you been?”

“I … went home to Antiva for a brief period. To recover.” She twisted the silver ring she wore on the third finger of her right hand. “I still miss him.”

“I know. I do, too.”

“Slowly I began to drift southward, and to hear stories about the beautiful, bold Inquisitor. Eventually I began to recognize my beloved Ren in the stories, and determined to come this direction to check on you. I had a bit of … trouble on the way, or I would have been here soon enough to be of some assistance against Corypheus. Although it appears you had all the help you need.” She cast a smile at the Iron Bull that was almost, but not quite, free of artifice.

“I could have used you,” Ren said, “but I’m sure we can find something for you to do if you’re hunting work.” She wasn’t about to offer a position with the Chargers; Zadra was used to a greater amount of autonomy than the Iron Bull would stand for. For that matter, Ren wasn’t entirely sure what her own position with the Chargers would be once they got back to being mercenaries again. 

“I … am not certain what I will do. But I will stay for a little; I have missed you, my darling.” Zadra put up a hand and traced the edge of Ren’s cheek.

“And I you.” They embraced again. 

Ren had never expected her path and Zadra’s to cross again, but now that they had, she found herself uneasy. What did Zadra want? What had brought her to Skyhold? Her time as Inquisitor, her long association with the Iron Bull and his spycraft-focused brain, made it difficult to take anyone, even a formerly trusted friend, at face value. They had a few drinks together, and Ren made arrangements to have Zadra put up at the inn—hoping that the spies already had people keeping the elf under surveillance—before she and the Iron Bull retired to their room.

“You want to talk about it, kadan?” he asked her.

“Nothing much to talk about. There’s more to it than wanting to check on my well-being, for sure. I don’t have to have been trained by the Ben-Hassrath to know that.” Ren shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.” As the Iron Bull kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight, she frowned at him. “Can’t say I liked coming in and finding her all over you.”

His eye warmed, his hand snaking around her waist and pulling her more firmly against him. “Really got you going, huh?”

“A little. I’m used to everyone knowing who you belong to.”

He raised his eyebrow. “’Belong’?”

Ren rolled him over onto his back, exulting in the fact that he went willingly, and put her hands on his horns, pinning him to the bed. He could have fought back, but he didn’t, and she could feel his chest rise and fall beneath her as his breathing sped up. “Belong,” she repeated firmly. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could probably use a reminder, boss.”

“Well, then. If you put it that way.” She pulled a red ribbon from her pocket, tying his hands together above his head. Initially, their sex life had been based on her needing to put the burdens of command down, to let someone else take charge. Now that she was transitioning out of the role of Inquisitor, they were switching that around more often, letting her retain that sense of command in the bedroom even as she relinquished it outside. 

When they left for the Storm Coast, he would be the head of the Bull’s Chargers, and she would answer to him. But here, in bed, with his body twisting underneath her hands, and his hips bucking as she teased him with lips and tongue, Ren took great pleasure in her power over him.

She worked him until she could tell he was close to the peak, then she climbed on top of him, taking him as deeply inside her as she could. Both of them felt constrained by the need to be silent, the walls of his room in the tavern thin enough that the occupants of the neighboring rooms had complained. Ren bit her lip against the cries of pleasure that begged to be released as the tension inside her built to the breaking point. With a muffled grunt, the Iron Bull pumped up against her, his climax triggered by hers. 

Collapsing on the bed next to him, Ren untied the ribbon around his powerful wrists. He could rip the fabric easily if he wanted to, and they both knew it. 

His arms wrapped around her, cradling her against him. “I’m not going anywhere, kadan. There’s not a woman in the world you need to be threatened by.”

Ren pushed up on her elbow so she could look at him better. “I know that. It’s not that I’m threatened, exactly. I just … I like everyone knowing that you’re mine. Does that bother you?”

The Iron Bull chuckled. “Not in the least.” More seriously, he said, “In this case, she knew. Not sure if she was testing you, or me, or both, but she knew.”

“That’s not really a surprise, is it? I mean, I think most people assume I stepped down as Inquisitor for you.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her thoughtfully. While he didn’t disagree with the decision, or with her stated reasons for it, there were times when he wondered how much of a factor their relationship had been. Everyone had made it clear to her that she couldn’t have both—the advisors, her father, the Iron Bull himself. No one was arguing that the post-Corypheus role of Inquisitor didn’t play to her strengths, but he couldn’t help worrying that she was going to find the position of partner in command of a merc company a big step down from what she was used to. He traced the blue tattoo that wound its way under one of her eyes and over the other. “Just be cautious.”

“I will be.” She nuzzled the side of his neck affectionately. “My Ashkaari, the one who thinks too much.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I like it when you shut up and kiss me.”

He smiled. “Can do.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The following morning, they were on their way to the sparring ground when Varric found them. His face was as serious as the genial dwarf ever got. “Come with me. There’s something you need to see.”

He led them to the stables, where the horses were restive, shifting uneasily in their stalls. Horsemaster Dennet was there, turning to frown at them in distress as they came closer. “I can’t think how this happened! I keep the stables tight closed up and under guard during the night,” he said. “It’ll take me days to get some of the higher-strung animals calmed down.” 

Varric seemed to be on the verge of snapping at him, then he sighed and thought better of it. “We’ll be out of your stables as soon as we can,” he said instead, leading Ren and the Iron Bull to a stall at the end. Inside, one of the scouts sat propped against a wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle. “This is how the horsemaster found her this morning.”

Ren didn’t recognize the woman, but that was no particular surprise. The Inquisition had so many people; she couldn’t know all of them. The Iron Bull knew he had seen this particular scout before once or twice. What he found most striking about her was the particular shade of her hair—the rich, dark red of bloodstone, a color the scout happened to share with the former Inquisitor.

“Someone,” he said, “is sending us a message. You want to get rid of a body in Skyhold, you throw it over the side of the battlements, let it get buried in the snow. But this … Leaving the body where it’s certain to be found … This was deliberate. This was murder, and someone wants us to know it.”


	2. Investigation

After the Iron Bull’s pronouncement, they all stood looking at the dead scout. Varric cleared his throat. “Hey, Tiny.”

“Yeah?”

“This is … well, I’m only standing in for Nightingale until they can find someone else.”

“You want my help.”

“In a nutshell.”

The Iron Bull looked down at the body of the murdered scout. “Yeah. Can do.” He hunkered down next to her. “You know what her name was?”

“Harriette, if memory serves. From Orlais.”

Ren frowned. “Do you think it matters where she came from?”

“At this point, everything matters.” The Iron Bull gently probed the neck. “The vertebrae back here are like gravel. I’m guessing someone hit her, rather than a quick snap to break the neck.”

“So, someone not very strong?” Varric asked.

The Iron Bull glanced up at him. “Or someone very strong trying to throw us off the track.”

“What was she doing here?” Ren asked. “Is there a lot of clandestine activity in the stables?”

“Not usually. Dennet runs a pretty tight ship; doesn’t take kindly to people messing around near the horses.” Varric raised an eyebrow. “If she was trying to do something to the horses, I’d say Dennet’s capable.”

“Then isn’t that the first thing we need to do, find out where she was last seen and what could have brought her down to the stables?” Ren asked.

“First thing we need to do is search this stall for anything out of the ordinary,” the Iron Bull corrected her. “Then we find out what she was doing here.”

“Oh, Maker’s breath.” Cullen had appeared in the doorway of the stall. “Do we know what happened?”

“Not yet. Somebody broke her neck, but who and why are yet to be determined.”

The Iron Bull was on his hands and knees, gently sifting the straw around Harriette’s body. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, sighing wearily. “Poor girl. I’ll look into who her people are and see that they’re contacted.”

“Thanks, Curly. Tiny and I have this for now, at least.”

“Very well. Whatever I can do.” Cullen turned to Ren. “The Inquisitor was looking for you.”

“Already?”

“Apparently something unexpected came up.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of the job,” Ren said tartly. “I’ll go see what he wants.” She glanced at the Iron Bull. “You need me down here?”

He didn’t even look up from the straw. “Nope.”

“Come find me when you’re done here.” She left him to it; if anyone could figure out what had happened to the scout, he could, especially with Varric’s help.

She found Morris in Josephine’s office. Both of them turned to her when she came in. “Cullen said you were looking for me?”

“Yes. This … well, it’s a bit hairier than I was hoping for my first job as Inquisitor.” 

“What is it?”

He handed her a letter. It was from a Starkhaven scholar who thought he had found the trail of the first Inquisitor, in the midst of an area of Ferelden where the Avvar made their home.

“That is tricky,” Ren said. “The Avvar aren’t known for welcoming outsiders in the middle of their territory—especially on errands that look as though they’re going to require digging in a lot of different areas.”

“Right.” Morris smiled at her optimistically. “Which is why I was hoping you would accompany me when I go.”

“Me? But I’m leaving!” Ren could only imagine what the Iron Bull would say if she told him they had to go off to fight a bunch of Avvar and dig up some old bones.

“I know you are. But … this is fighting, and diplomacy, and … I’ve never been out on expedition before, and I thought maybe … this one last time … you could show me the ropes?”

Ren sighed. He looked so hopeful, like a big puppy. “All right. All right!”

Morris exhaled in relief, and Josephine smiled. “I told you the—Ren would see reason.”

“I don’t know if it’s reason or if I’m just exceptionally soft-hearted. Also, I should tell you that Varric and Bull are down in the stables right now trying to find out about a scout named Harriette. Apparently she was murdered last night.”

“Murdered?” Josephine blanched. “Why? By whom?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Either of you know anything about this Harriette?”

They looked at each other, concerned, and then shook their heads.

“I’ll ask around. Harding isn’t in Skyhold right now, is she?”

“No,” Josephine said. “I believe she is on her way to the Frostback Basin to begin setting up camp and meet this Professor Kenric.”

“All right. We’ll leave day after tomorrow,” Ren said. Then she gave Morris an apologetic glance. “Sorry. We’ll leave when you’re ready.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Day after tomorrow works. It should give Varric and Bull time to work out what happened to the scout.”

“In the meantime, we should think about having everyone be a bit more careful.”

“And start a panic?” Morris asked. “I think we’re better off not saying anything.”

“Skyhold is very small, Inquisitor. People will talk,” Josephine told him.

“Perhaps.”

Ren excused herself, glad that was no longer her decision to make. She made her way up to the rookery, which was still bustling, even in Leliana’s absence. She gathered the scouts together and told them about Harriette, noting that while they seemed startled and unhappy, none of them were devastated by the loss. “Do you know if anyone up here was close to Harriette?”

“No, Inq—ser. She kept herself to herself, far as I know.”

A second scout said, “I think she spent a fair amount of time in the tavern. Liked the music.”

“Liked the bartender, more like,” said a third. 

“Cabot?” Ren asked. She didn’t know the dwarf had ever done anything but stand behind the bar and be grumpy.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” The scout shrugged. “Not my style, but I suppose if you like that kind of thing …”

“Would she have been there last night?”

“Didn’t see her there, but she could’ve been.” The scout frowned. “Weren’t you there last night, ser?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember seeing her.” Of course, Ren had been distracted by the Iron Bull and Zadra. Zadra! She had entirely forgotten her old friend. “Thank you all. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Anytime, ser.”

“One of you go down to the stables and report to the Iron Bull and Varric,” she said, “tell them what you told me.”

After making sure her order was carried out, Ren hurried down the stairs and through the keep to the tavern. Maryden was singing again, something about Harding this time, and Cabot was behind the bar. Ren frowned, watching him for a moment. He was reasonably strong, but short—if he’d wanted to break Harriette’s neck, he might have had to strike her rather than snapping it, based on lack of leverage.

“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Zadra waved her over to a table where she was sitting with Krem and Flissa. “Your lovely friends here were just telling me all about you.”

“Were they now?” Ren wasn’t entirely sure she was happy with this turn of events, but she couldn’t have said what exactly bothered her. Krem and Flissa were both fairly discreet, and she had known Zadra for years—surely she could trust all of them. Couldn’t she?

“Only good things, Your Worship.” Krem grinned at her.

“You know I hate that, Krem de la Crème.”

He shrugged, but the cheeky grin stayed in place. Flissa made room for her at the table. 

“Zadra, you never told me what the trouble was that delayed you on your way here.”

“Ah, that. Well … let us just say one does not come from Antiva without leaving enemies behind.”

“Crows?”

Zadra chuckled. “I only wish. Crows, at least, have a certain code—they are contracted to kill you, or they are not. No, this was another trouble entirely, and one I do not wish to think about at the moment.”

Ren nodded, accepting the evasion, but she wondered. Could Zadra’s trouble have followed her here? Could Harriette have run into someone who didn’t belong in Skyhold?

“I want to hear all about you, though, my dear.” Zadra leaned forward on an elbow. “I understand your Iron Bull was not always a mercenary. Does he still practice the ways of the Qun?”

Ren and Krem both laughed heartily. “The Chief’s more of a southerner at heart,” Krem said.

“You can say that again.” Ren dropped a wink, but underneath she wondered, as she often did. How much of the Iron Bull still yearned toward the ways of his people? He had been devastated when he was named Tal-Vashoth, and he had worked through that largely on his own. It rarely appeared in him now, but … there were depths in him that even she had never touched, and he kept his innermost feelings very much to himself. 

Zadra appeared to accept their response at face value, and she listened, fascinated, to Krem’s stories of the Chargers and Ren’s of some of the Inquisition’s exploits.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The Iron Bull studied a clump of mud. It was ordinary Skyhold mud, nothing special … but it was on top of the clean straw, in a stall that was rarely used.

“Could’ve come off her shoe,” Varric said.

“Could’ve. Or it could’ve come off someone else’s.” He squinted at it. This was a rare moment when he wished for two good eyes. “You see a pattern in that, like it was stuck in the bottom of a shoe?”

Varric squinted, too, and at last sat back with a sigh. “No.”

“Didn’t rain yesterday.”

“No, but there’s mud in the yard near the horse-trough all the time.”

“Yeah.” The Iron Bull sighed, getting to his feet. “There’s nothing here,” he said. “Poor kid.”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, would’ve been nicer if there had been some trace, some way to know what she was doing here.”

The scout who had reported to them had just gone, after standing up to a fair amount of scrutiny from both men. She hadn’t been lying; Harriette’s movements the night before remained a mystery. The Iron Bull hadn’t seen her in the tavern, and he would have noticed. He was sure of it.

“They could all be in on it,” Varric suggested.

“Doubtful.” The Iron Bull shrugged. “If so, we’ll know, though. Few more days, any conspiracy’s likely to start breaking up.”

“Great. So we just wait to see what else will happen?”

“Sounds about right.”

Varric groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hope Ruffles and Curly come up with a new spymaster soon. I’m not cut out for this.”

The Iron Bull watched him sympathetically. He had been approached by both Cullen and Josephine about taking on the job, which he found ironic, considering the hard time they had given Ren about her relationship with a Qunari when she was still Inquisitor. “You might have to pick your own,” he said to the dwarf. “They’ve got enough on their plates, they’re not going to replace Leliana—or you, in this case—unless they absolutely have to.”

Varric groaned. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’re in that much of a hurry?”

“I … owe Kirkwall a debt. I want to repay it.” Varric looked away, never comfortable revealing true emotion.

“I get it. You want my help finding a replacement?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know. How long are you and Rusty here for?”

“Couple more weeks.” The Iron Bull couldn’t help smiling, thinking of it.

“Good luck with that.” Varric grinned. “They’ll keep you—and her, too—as long as they can.”

“I know it.” With a frown, the Iron Bull surveyed the stall one more time. “I think we’re done here. We should have someone collect her body, do that pyre thing you Andrasteans get into.”

“I’ll go deal with it. And I’ll ask around a little, see if anyone saw her yesterday.”

“You do that. I’ll head for the tavern, see if anyone there saw her. Sera might have, or one of her ‘friends’.”

“What about the Kid? Is he around? His getting into people’s heads thing could be handy.”

The Iron Bull shook his head. Cole would be useful right now; it was too bad he wasn’t in Skyhold at the moment. “He went to go find that Templar friend of his, see if they could be friends again now that he’s not a spirit. Or less of a spirit. Or whatever the fuck he is.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” With a last glance at the scout’s body, the Iron Bull turned and made his way back to the tavern.

It was the usual, no change from any other day. Had a woman left here last night to be killed? It seemed the most likely, but if so, why hadn’t he seen her? 

Across the room his eye landed on the dark red head of his _kadan_ , and he wondered if that was why. Had he been so distracted by Ren, and by her elf friend pretending to try to pick him up, that he’d missed something vital?

A chill touched him, a hint of the occasional worry he had that this love thing was bad for him, was dulling his sharp edges and wearing away the years of careful training he had done with the Ben-Hassrath. Being with Ren had brought him so many gifts, so many experiences and emotions he had never dreamed of, but it had cost him something, too, and there were moments when he wondered if the price had been too high.

She turned her head, her blue eyes lighting at the sight of him, and he pushed his worries aside in the face of the leap of his pulse when their eyes met. Whatever it had cost him, he had chosen this—and if he had the decision to make again, it would come out the same. 

He crossed the room toward her, at the table where she sat with Krem and Flissa and her friend Zadra.

“Hey, Chief!” Krem moved over to make room. “We were just telling Zadra here about some of the Chargers’ more colorful jobs.”

“Actually,” Ren said, before he could respond or take the seat Krem offered, “I was about to come looking for you.” She stood up. “I need to talk to you.”

“Anytime, _kadan_.”

She pulled him aside.

“Something up with your friend?”

“What? No. I mean … yes, definitely there’s something weird going on, but that’s not what I have to tell you.” She looked up at him with an apologetic, somewhat harassed, somewhat resigned expression, and he groaned.

“We’re not leaving in two weeks.”

“No. And …”

“What?”

“Morris wants us to go with him to the Frostback Basin to meet with the Avvar and help some professor go looking for the first Inquisitor.”

“Fuck.”

Ren nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” She stepped closer, sliding her arms around his waist and looking up at him. “You might get to fight some Avvar, and I hear they’re really big, almost Qunari-size.”

“Yeah, they aren’t. Bigger than most, but not that big.” Still, his arms stole around her in return, his head dipping toward hers. “Any dragons down there?”

“None that I know of, but … we can ask.”

He kissed her. “This sucks, you know that?”

“I know. I want to get out of here. But—I feel like I owe it to Morris to set him on the right path.”

“Varric’ll kill me, leaving him here with a mystery on his hands.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Ren disentangled herself. “Any leads?”

“No. He’s going to ask around, see if anyone remembers her. I was going to do the same here.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“Morvoren.” He used her full name, which he loved, as a reminder that she had not been trained as a Ben-Hassrath and would be likely to cramp his style in an interrogation.

“Ashkaari,” Ren repeated in the same tone, using the name his tamassran had given him when he was small. “If this is going to work, you’re going to have to start teaching me.”

“To be a spy?”

“To not get in your way.”

There were arguments to be made there; he wasn’t sure he agreed with her premise. But for now, it might help to have her along. “Fine. Let’s go get a drink.”

They ambled over to the bar and found seats. The Iron Bull wondered how his _kadan_ was going to react when they were no longer in Skyhold and seats and tables no longer magically opened up just when she needed them. 

Cabot was polishing a glass. He gave them a very brief nod. “Ex-Inquisitor. Iron Bull.”

“Ale,” Ren said. “Times two.”

“Sure.”

There was a moment’s silence. Whatever else he was, Cabot was the least talkative bartender the Iron Bull had ever met.

“Cabot, have you ever seen a scout named Harriette around here? Hair about my color?”

“That the one who ended up in the stables last night?”

“Yeah.” The Iron Bull studied the dwarf’s face. There might have been something there, but it wasn’t guilt. More like regret, maybe.

“I knew her. She was a regular. Liked the music.”

“She here last night?”

“Think so.” Cabot shrugged. “Can’t remember her being here, but I think I would’ve noticed if she wasn’t.” 

Ren sipped her ale, her eyes on him. The Iron Bull thought he was going to have a time of it teaching her to school her features—it was plain as day that she suspected Cabot had a hand in it.

“Maybe we’ll talk to the bard, then,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair and dropping some coins on the bar. Ren ate and drank free anywhere in Skyhold, but he liked to pay his own way whenever possible.

He had timed their move correctly; Maryden was just finishing a set and pausing for a glass of water. “Nice song,” he said as they approached her.

The bard beamed. “Thank you. It’s new.”

“This your first rendition?”

“No, I played it last night. Everyone loved it!”

“You remember seeing a scout here, redhead named Harriette?”

Maryden frowned. “Harriette? Sounds familiar. She came here a lot?”

“Pretty frequently. I guess she was a fan.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. She was found dead this morning.”

For the Iron Bull’s money, Maryden’s gasp of surprise was a bit overdone. She followed it up immediately with a glance at Ren, and he wondered if she was trying to show off for the ex-Inquisitor. “Poor girl. Maybe I do remember her. Liked to sit in the corner, nursing a glass of wine?”

“Could be.”

“What a shame. Such a lovely girl.” Maryden shook her head. “We have had some new arrivals in Skyhold recently. Perhaps someone saw Harriette and thought … No, probably not.”

She refused to say what she had been thinking, even when they pressed her, and the Iron Bull wondered if the bard had the same thought he had—that someone had come on Harriette in the dark and taken her for his _kadan_. Had it been an assassination attempt?

All the more reason to go with her to the Frostback Basin and get her out of Skyhold, he decided.


	3. Avvar

Scout Harding met them at the Inquisition camp in the Frostback Basin and introduced them to Professor Kenric, an idealist in a weird hat who seemed to have no idea what kind of shit he had gotten himself into, trying to dig up the dead Inquisitor’s bones.

Morris was enthusiastic about it, though, and the two of them discovered they had a bunch of mutual acquaintances. The noble crap flew thick and fast while they connected, but the Iron Bull approved. It was the kind of thing his Morvoren had no patience with, and that Morris aced without a thought. 

As far as he could tell, it all boiled down to walking around in a jungle that looked a little bit like Seheron, looking for old relics that might tell them whether the last Inquisitor was here eight hundred years ago, plus fighting some crazy Avvar cultists and possibly a dragon somewhere. All in all, not the worst way to spend a few days.

They decided to start by cozying up to the friendlier Avvar hold, so they headed that way first. 

On the way through the forest, Ren remembered to hang back and let Morris go first. She wasn’t used to letting someone else set the pace, and she wanted to go faster—but he wasn’t as hardened to all this, and would tire out more quickly. It made sense that he was starting off at a more sedate pace.

They found the tiny fishing village near the lake shore without any trouble at all. They also found some of the Jaws of Hakkon, the crazy cultists, who had been there doing some trading with the other Avvar and attacked the Inquisition party on sight. There appeared to be some question among them as to who was the Inquisitor. The Anchor drew them to Ren eventually, which was fine with her. The last thing anyone wanted was to have Morris killed in a minor skirmish on his first day out.

The Jaws of Hakkon were formidable fighters, too, and they carried a mage with them, so it was a good scrap to have Morris start off with. Cassandra fought with unusual heat, as though she had been just waiting for a chance to work out her frustrations. Ren sympathized; she had thrown what influence she had behind Cassandra’s bid to be Divine, but apparently it had been too little, too late. Dorian appeared rather bored by the whole thing; he’d seemed a bit fidgety recently, and Ren had been too busy with the changeover to really find out what was going on with him. She would have to talk with him the next time there was a chance.

The Avvars of the fishing village appeared completely disinterested in the fight going on at their doorstep, and when it was over and the Jaws of Hakkon lay dead, they appeared equally disinterested in their countrymen’s fate.

Ren and Morris approached a man who had been busily gutting fish throughout the battle. He grunted at them, but didn’t look up as he asked, “You’re the lowlander they call Inquisitor?”

It was hard to tell which of them he was looking at, so Ren nudged Morris when he didn’t immediately respond. “Yes! Of course, yes, I am. Inquisitor Morris.”

“Arvid Rolfsen.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my associate, Ren Trevelyan.”

“Well fought, Inquisitor and associate. The fish will feed well on fool’s heart-wine this night.”

“You’re not upset that we fought your people?”

Rolfsen did glance up at that, without missing a beat in his fish-gutting. “Them? They’ve brought nothing but trouble. We have no quarrel, you and I.” He dropped his gaze back to the fish. “You’ll be wanting to head up the road here to Stone-Bear Hold, speak to Thane Sun-Hair.”

“Thank you, we’ll do that,” Morris said. “We also wondered if we might borrow a boat—we need to reach that island.”

Rolfsen’s hands stilled on the fish and he turned his head to follow Morris’s pointing finger. “That island? That’s the Lady’s Rest. It belongs to the Lady of the Skies. The spirits warn us to leave it be.”

“Of course they do,” Dorian muttered.

“Demons. Crap,” growled the Iron Bull.

“We don’t wish to disturb your Lady,” Ren said, “but we do need to go there.” Professor Kenric thought the island might be the site of a long-ago battle, and had suggested they try it first in their quest for artifacts.

Grunting, Rolfsen said, “That’s not my trouble to take, associate. Get the Thane’s blessing, and you may sail to Korth’s rocky heart if you wish.”

He went back to his fish, a clear dismissal, and Morris led them up the shore road toward the hold. Curious stares and whispers followed them as they sought the cave of the Thane.

“Enter, lowlanders,” called a woman’s voice from within. “I wondered how long it would take you to make your way here.”

Without rising from her chair, the thane motioned them to seats around the central fire. The Iron Bull chose to stand against the wall instead, out of the fire’s light as much as possible. This didn’t seem to bother the thane, which was either incredibly confident of her or incredibly foolish. 

“Inquisition.” The thane nodded to all of them. “I am Svarah Sun-Hair of Stone-Bear Hold, and I offer you guest-welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Morris said, bowing as well as he could while seated cross-legged on the ground.

“You have done much to heal the holes in the sky. We are most grateful.”

“Ah. That was my associate here, former Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

Ren bowed her head, as did the thane.

“The Inquisition has come here in search of the last Inquisitor’s body. We believe he died here hundreds of years ago,” Morris continued. 

“Giving peace to the dead is a worthy quest. But I will warn you, the Jaws of Hakkon will not feel the same. They will want you to pay in blood.”

“Will you assist us against them?” Ren asked. Morris glanced at her in alarm, but the thane leaned forward in her seat, a small smile playing across her face.

To the Iron Bull it seemed obvious that she had been waiting for the question; probably wanted to get the rival group out of her hair, but didn’t want to fight them with her own people.

“Perhaps,” the thane allowed. “But we have pledged peace with them. To attack with lowlanders at my side would make us oath-breakers.”

“Might there be something we can do for you that would ease your conscience?” Morris asked.

The thane’s smile broadened. “A hold draws strength from its hold-beast. They are as kin to us. Ours has not been seen in days; the hold fears for her. If you were to bring her back to us, it could be seen as a sign from the gods that your cause is worthy.”

“What manner of a beast is she?” Cassandra asked.

“She is a bear.”

Ren smiled a little. “Bears and I traditionally do not get along, Thane Sun-Hair.”

“You have fought bears, and you lived?” The thane laughed. “Good for you. Should you find Storvacker, your experience will keep you respectful. You will both be fine.”

Morris didn’t look so convinced of that. “There is one more thing we would ask, if we may. We need to borrow a boat from your fishermen, and were told we needed your permission.”

The thane snorted. “Rolfsen worries like a scared baby goat. You will have your boat when you need it; tell him I said so. But if you will take my advice, you will come back in a fortnight when the water’s a bit lower. Unless one of you is an expert with boats.”

Ren turned to look at the Iron Bull, who shook his head. She swam well, but wasn’t great with boats either. So much for their plans to leave in two weeks.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Morris said, with some relief in his voice. “Thank you.”

“Now … you will stay to the feast, of course. It is late for you to return to your own camp.”

“Of course,” Morris said. The Iron Bull could hear the hint of uncertainty in his voice, but as far as he could tell no one else noticed it. The kid was coming along nicely, which was a relief. The sooner Morris was up to speed, the sooner the Iron Bull could have his _kadan_ all to himself.

The feast was just beginning outside, some type of spring celebration, from what the Iron Bull could see. Dorian drifted off toward a man in some kind of meditation, and Ren and the Iron Bull followed, curious. The man looked up, his eyes going immediately to the Anchor on Ren’s left hand.

“So. She arrives.” To the air around him he said, “Don’t throng! Show some manners.”

Something was hanging in the air, suddenly, several somethings, and the man stood up and flung his arms wide. “Behold, worthy ones, the woman who blazes like fire and mends the sky.”

“Aw, crap,” the Iron Bull muttered under his breath. Demons. Again. Why did it always have to be fucking demons?

“They’re not harmful,” Dorian said quietly. “I don’t think.”

“Yeah, that helps.” He rolled his eye in Dorian’s direction.

The beings faded into nothingness, and the man approached Ren, taking her marked hand in both of his. “I am the Augur of Stone-Bear Hold. I greet you, as do our gods and the gods of our ancestors. Be welcome!”

“You pray to spirits?” Ren asked curiously.

“We _offer_ to them,” the Augur corrected. “We don’t pray like the lowlanders to a creator they think will weather all the ages.” He made a face at his own words. “I’m sorry if I sound blunt.”

“No, it’s all right. I don’t pray to a creator myself. In some ways, it makes more sense to leave offerings to spirits you can see.”

“An open mind; I like that. I had heard the Inquisition respected all beliefs. I am glad to see it is true. The gods of my hold clamored to see you. I believe they are pleased, as well.”

Ren was glad she was the one talking to the Augur and not Morris, who was legitimately Andrastean.

The Iron Bull gritted his teeth, not sure how much more of this he could take. “Where’s the food?” he asked abruptly.

The Augur turned a keen pair of eyes on him, and he had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that the Augur could see a lot more in him than he would have liked. “Near the big fire; you can’t miss it.”

Ren lingered behind, wanting to ask if the Augur knew anything about the whereabouts of the bear. When they were alone, the Augur stepped closer to her. “Take care. To those beyond the Veil, your hand burns like the watchman’s bonfire.”

She clenched her fist protectively around the Anchor, glad that the Augur had waited to drop that piece of information until the Iron Bull was out of earshot.

“Keep close to the one with the horns. He will protect you from what comes, if it takes his last breath.”

“You read that in him?”

“I did, and so did the gods of the hold.”

“Do they know where your hold-beast is?”

The Augur shook his head sorrowfully. “No, they have seen no sign. I fear for her.”

“As do I. I will look for her tomorrow.”

“Tonight, you will feast.”

“Yes.” With a parting smile, Ren hurried off after her people.

The meat was plentiful, the ale was flowing, and the Avvar were more than hospitable in urging more of each on the Inquisition party. Soon, Ren found herself singing along with a rousing Avvar song whose words she didn’t know. 

As the song came to an end, a cry went up amongst the Avvar. “The Trials of Hakkon! The Trials of Hakkon.”

Thane Sun-Hair raised a hand in a gesture of assent, and a big man stood up in the midst of everyone, holding up his hands for silence. “I have your request for the Trials of Hakkon. What say you all?”

There was a roar. Under it, Morris leaned over to Ren. “What is this?”

“Test of strength, I’m guessing,” the Iron Bull said. He looked around at the strapping Avvar warriors. “Should be interesting."

The man in the center said, “These lowlanders have come to the feast; will we have them test their strength?”

Another roar, another whisper from Morris. “No! They couldn’t possibly. I mean …”

“Rest easy, Inquisitor. We’ve got this.” The Iron Bull nodded to Ren, who grinned at him.

“We would take your measure, Inquisition! Stone-Bear Hold would know if the spirits favor you!”

The Iron Bull got to his feet amidst more cheers, and at his side so did Ren, raising the glowing Anchor to the sky. 

The man who had been leading the cheers came to stand in front of them. “You would pit yourself against our people? Wit and muscle and steel against steel? Not to death, just to surrender. In case you’re afraid.” He looked Ren in the eye.

“That’s a relief,” Ren said loudly, not looking away. “We wouldn’t want to widow the entire village.” Next to her, she saw Cassandra rise as well, amidst laughter and cheers and catcalls from the assembled Avvar.

“Bring the stomach to match those fine words, then.” He moved off, leaving Ren to wish queasily that she’d brought a little less stomach. Too much meat and ale made for slower movement, a fact the Avvar no doubt well knew.

A large ring stood in the midst of the hold. The people filed into a section of wooden benches, each row raised a bit above the others on scaffolding, so everyone could see. Morris, looking pale and anxious, and Dorian, looking relaxed and busily taking bets from any Avvar willing to offer stakes, sat in the front row. Ren, the Iron Bull, and Cassandra ranged themselves on one side, while three fighters from the Avvar faced them. The one in the middle, a bald man a little taller than Cassandra, stepped forward, and Ren met him in the center.

“Just like the hunt, Inquisitor, eh?”

“Ren will do. He’s the Inquisitor.” She nodded toward Morris. She looked the bald man over. “You hunt?”

“Then why isn’t he fighting?” 

“I’m his champion.”

“Fine, then, ‘champion’, it just so happens that I _lead_ our hunts.” He puffed out his chest. “My leg may ache, one eye can’t see in the dark, and yet I bring more meat than anyone in the hold! Goat’s piss, ‘do I hunt’!”

“Pardon me for overlooking how you’ve clearly overcome so many infirmities. I suppose you would claim you could also best me with one hand tied behind your back?” Ren asked coolly. She was enjoying this, the posturing familiar, the banter rising naturally to her lips.

“By all means! And I’d bind my eyes to make it fair.”

“Oh, don’t go to all that trouble. If I have to knock some sense into you, I’d rather you see it coming.”

He stepped closer; Ren held her ground. “If I beat sense into you, ‘champion’, you’ll not see for a week.”

She gestured behind her at the Iron Bull. “See what happened to the last person to threaten that? Old man, I will not be your suicide.”

The Iron Bull chuckled. He loved watching his _kadan_ at work.

She and the bald man were facing off against each other now, neither willing to back down. Then the bald man laughed. “Aye, there’s spine to you, isn’t there? This will be fun.”

“We go till someone yields?”

He nodded. “You could save yourself some time and yield now.”

“So could you.”

They both went back to their companions. “Are you ready?” Ren asked.

Cassandra smiled grimly. The Iron Bull raised his greataxe above his head, waving it around. “Wish I hadn’t eaten so much,” he muttered.

“You and me both. Clever bastards, aren’t they? Still … we’ve taken out far scarier things.”

“Corypheus.”

“Exactly.”

And it began. The Avvars had matched the weapons specialties, so they had a big man with a giant sword, the bald hunter with sword and shield, and a small, quick woman with two daggers. Similar styles, as well, it appeared, because as Ren rushed the man with the big sword the Avvar woman attacked the Iron Bull, leaving Cassandra and the bald hunter in the center, circling each other carefully, each looking for an opening.

Used to fighting his _kadan_ , the Iron Bull had developed a few tricks of his own. He played the lumbering giant, making big swings with the greataxe and leaving himself wide open on the follow-through. When the Avvar woman scented an opening and came in, daggers thrusting at his unprotected stomach, he brought the pommel of his greataxe back and caught her firmly in the chest with it. His longer reach meant she barely managed to score his flesh with her daggers, a minor scratch that maddened him rather than slowing him down, before she was sent staggering back. He followed up the pommel thrust with an overhand swing of the greataxe. The woman rolled out of his way at the last minute and was on her feet spinning toward his open side. 

He caught Cassandra’s eye as he dodged the dagger strike. She turned, her shield connecting hard with the Avvar woman’s back and sending her stumbling forward, while the Iron Bull brought his massive weapon into play with a mighty blow that the Avvar hunter barely managed to catch on his shield. The edge of the greataxe scored the heavy leather of the shield just a bit, tugging it ever so slightly out of the way, and the Iron Bull used the connection to push forward, driving the shield back against the Avvar’s chest, his sheer bulk moving the Avvar back several steps across the ring.

He felt the sting of the Avvar’s sword across his back and a trickle of blood, but he ignored it. He had the Avvar backed up against the edge of the ring now, both of them pressed against each other such that neither could bring their weapon effectively into play. 

“Think you have me, don’t you?” The Avvar grinned. “Watch your back.”

The Iron Bull whirled to his blind side, catching the massive sword of the biggest Avvar on the handle of his greataxe. He heard Ren grunt as she passed him on the blind side, as she often did so he would know she was there, and then the clang of metal as she engaged the sword of the bald Avvar. The Iron Bull and the big Avvar settled into a rhythm of strike and slash and leap back. 

The meal was weighing heavily in his belly; he really regretted that last ale. He pressed the attack, short, vicious swings of the greataxe that the Avvar fighter countered with longer sweeps of his sword.

Next to him, he heard a breathless and reluctant “Yield” from the Avvar woman with the daggers, and then things got a little easier because Cassandra joined him in the attack. Flanked by the two of them, the Avvar warrior had a hard time blocking on both sides and eventually the tip of Cassandra’s sword pressed into the flesh of his stomach.

“Yield, then,” he said, nodding at them in grudging respect.

The Iron Bull turned to watch his _kadan_. She was moving a bit more slowly than was her wont, but he doubted the Avvars could tell—the daggers flashed in the torchlight as she and the hunter danced back and forth. By mutual agreement, Cassandra and the Iron Bull put away their blades, leaving the final duel between the last two fighters.

Ren barely dodged a strike of the sword and was clipped in the side by a thrust of the shield. She stumbled backward, looking as though she was about to lose her footing. And then she switched legs and aimed a hard kick at the center of the shield. The hunter took the blow directly where his forearm was bracing the shield, and he winced at the impact. The moment’s distraction was all she needed, and she was on him, one dagger hooking into the front of his shield and pulling it toward her and the other suddenly laid alongside his throat. 

They stood looking at one another, panting, and then the hunter raised both arms—the shield arm moving with difficulty—and laughed. “I yield, Inquisition. Well fought.”

“And you. You almost had me there.”

“Nice move.”

“I’ve practiced it enough.”

Dorian got up from his seat and came to the hunter. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the arm. He laid his gentle fingers on the arm and a light came from them.

The hunter nodded, flexing the arm, fully healed now. “My thanks to you.”

At that, the Avvar cheered them all. Ren stepped back and gestured for Morris to join them. “Our leader,” she said loudly, and he came forward, mastering whatever nerves might be filling him. Ren’s gesture made it less obvious that he alone amongst them had done nothing particularly impressive—it put the benefits of their work at his feet, and the Avvar nodded to him.

The fight, the sound of the waves hitting the rocks far below, the warmth of the night, and the immense pride he felt in her filled the Iron Bull, and as soon as they were out of the ring, he grabbed her hand, pulling her away toward a dark corner of rock that appeared at least somewhat secluded, pushing her up against the wall and seeking her mouth hungrily.

It had all worked her up, too, he could tell from the eagerness with which she met his kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull herself up. He anchored her between himself and the rock, his hands moving over her body, stroking and cupping and loosening clothes, kissing her all the while.

Ren’s fingernails dug into his shoulders as she pressed herself against him, her hips moving restlessly as he rubbed her through her damnably tight pants. 

“Please,” she whispered.

What the others were doing right now, he didn’t know and didn’t care. He ached for her. It was hard to be as gentle as he needed to be with her clothes when he wanted her so badly. Between them, they managed to push her pants down around her thighs and shove his down around his hips.

They both groaned with pleasure when they were joined, mouths meeting to muffle any further sounds. The coupling was short and intense and filled with need, and left them both sweaty and sated.

Letting her down, he traced her reddened lower lip gently with his thumb. “Morvoren.”

She smiled. “Not quite like a dragon.”

“Not bad, though.”

“No, definitely not.”

The Iron Bull leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. “Let’s not go back to Skyhold. Let’s just stay here, find this Inquisitor’s bones, and go.”

“We can’t, Ashkaari. You promised you would help find out who killed that scout, and I promised I would make sure Morris got a good start.”

“You just did.”

“With the Avvar, not in general.” She sighed, rubbing her cheek against his chest. “Not that I don’t wish we could do it that way.”

“Then let me go back, and you go on ahead to the Storm Coast.”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” Ren pulled back from him, looking up at him, straining to see his face in the dark. The moonlight picked up her pale skin, and he could see the worry on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I … That scout looked like you. From behind. I’d noticed it before.”

“Checking out other women, eh?” she teased.

“Just the ones with red hair.”

Ren chuckled, leaning up to kiss him. “She didn’t look that much like me.”

“Same shade of hair, though. _Kadan_ , we can’t hide from the fact that there are people out there who want to kill you.”

“Maybe not, but there’s no reason to assume whoever killed the scout is one of them.”

He wanted to shake her by her stubborn little shoulders. “I’m not taking a risk with your life.”

“Look, if you think that might have been aimed at me, the safest place I can be is with you, and the quickest way to get free of the demands of Skyhold is for us together to find out what happened to her.”

The Iron Bull looked down at her, wishing he didn’t agree. “All right, then, but you’re going to take care of yourself. Nothing crazy.”

“If you say so.” She grinned at him. “You want to go hunting a bear?”

He rolled his eye. “Tomorrow.” He cupped her rear with his hands, pulling her against him again. “I’m not done with you yet.”


	4. The Puzzle

They had spent the night with the Avvar, many of whom watched the Iron Bull with covetous looks that made Ren even more proud than usual to call him hers, and gone hunting the bear in the morning, eventually finding her in the bottom of a gloomy swamp, hidden away in a cave by the Jaws of Hakkon, who had intended to use her in a ritual to bind the spirit of Hakkon to her.

Storvacker’s safe return had gone a long way toward cementing their friendship with Stone-Bear Hold, and many good-natured jibes and slaps on the back were exchanged as they pulled out.

They arrived at Skyhold to find that everything was much the same. Varric, looking harried, reported no progress determining who had killed the scout. Josephine and Cullen were relieved to see Morris back in one piece.

Ren was called into the War Room meeting before she’d even had a chance to get a bath. She thought longingly of the luxurious tub in the quarters above her, and hoped Morris was enjoying it. 

She and Morris went over the events of their time in the Frostback Basin, filling Cullen and Josephine in on the Avvar situation and Professor Kenric’s search for traces of the lost Inquisitor.

“You say the Thane wanted you to return?” Josephine asked.

“Yes, when it was safer to travel on the lake. There’s an island in the middle that apparently has some connection to Inquisitor Ameridan.”

“Will you be returning on your own, then, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked.

Ren held her breath. She wanted so to leave all this behind her, to start her new life, but … if Morris wasn’t ready …

Morris, to his credit, took a deep breath and gamely said, “Of course,” but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Reluctantly, she said, “We can stay, until this mess with the Avvar is dealt with.” She wished Morris didn’t look so immediately relieved. She could see both Cullen and Josephine relax, too.

The meeting broke up soon after, and Ren walked out with Morris. “Thank you for staying,” he said. “Really, I mean it. I’m … I’ll get there, but I’m not there yet.”

“I know you aren’t.” She looked at him. “How are you and Dorian these days?”

Morris flushed and looked down at his toes. “There really isn’t a me and Dorian these days. I … I miss him, but—well, you know.”

“I know, and I’m sorry you had to make that choice.”

“I am, too, but I think he was going to make it himself. He …” Morris shook his head. “I don’t think I want to talk about this any more.”

“Fair enough.” Ren patted him on the shoulder. “Let me know if you ever do.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that.”

He wouldn’t, though. Ren watched him walk across the courtyard, his shoulders square, nodding to his people as he passed them. He would bottle up his feelings, put them away somewhere, and be the Inquisitor, in a way she never could have. She nodded, glad they had all made the right decision.

“He’s very good at that.” Dorian’s voice came from behind her, soft with regret.

“Good at what?”

“Pretending.”

Ren smiled at her old friend. “Remind you of anyone you know?”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth turned up. “Possibly.”

“You seem … preoccupied these days.” She looked him in the eye, searchingly. “You’re thinking of going back to Tevinter.”

“As you say, I am thinking of going back to Tevinter. My … my parents are there, and despite what occurred before I left …”

“You think maybe you need to give them another chance?”

“Do you think maybe you need to give your father another chance?”

Ren thought of her father, back now at his estate outside Ostwick, and of her brother Cadoc, no doubt in the midst of betrothal proceedings. “It wouldn’t be at the top of my list.”

“There may be where we differ, my friend.”

“Not the only place.” Ren smiled.

“Ah.” Dorian didn’t return her smile. “You think he made the wrong choice.”

“Who, Morris? No. Just … a choice I couldn’t have made. If I could have, I’d still be the Inquisitor.”

“In truth, I am happy to see you moving on, choosing to do something else with your life. The world has called on you enough.” He glanced at the Anchor. “It has marked you enough.”

“Maybe.” Ren clenched her hand protectively. The Anchor was part of her now; she would be different without it. 

“No one thinks less of you,” he told her. “For stepping down.”

Ren had to laugh at that one. “Yes, they do.”

“Well …” Dorian smiled. “Perhaps. But no one who matters.”

“Thank you for that.” She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “When will you leave, do you think?”

“Oh, not for some time yet. I’ll see you safely off to the Storm Coast. If you ever get there.”

Ren rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me. Between the Avvar and this murder Bull’s investigating …”

“You didn’t think it would be easy to get away, I hope.” 

“Easier.”

“You’ll manage,” Dorian assured her. He held her hand for a moment before making his way in the direction of the library.

Ren went the opposite way, toward the tavern. She hadn’t seen Zadra since she’d returned from the Frostback Basin, and she hoped her friend was still here. 

The Chargers had taken over the back half of the tavern, and they were carousing raucously. They called her over as soon as she entered, and Ren smiled as she made her way through the tables in their direction. She didn’t see Zadra anywhere; she would have to ask around later. 

“Inquisitor.” Dalish smiled at her and made room on the bench next to her.

“Not any longer,” Ren reminded the elf as she sat down and accepted the mug someone handed her.

“Then you’ll need a nickname, salroka.” 

Ren frowned at Rocky, whose mustache was white with foam from his ale. “Is that my nickname, then? Salroka? What does it mean?”

He shook his head. “Nah, that’s a dwarf thing. Salroka, it’s like a friend, or a respected ally.”

“Well, thank you for that, then.” She toasted him with her mug, glad to feel accepted. The Chargers were very important to her Ashkaari. If she couldn’t fit in with them, she’d have a hard time in the new life ahead of her.

There was a pause in the merriment as she drank, and she realized they were all watching her. Slowly she put the mug down. “Something wrong?”

“We were just … wondering,” Dalish said, “what your intentions might be.”

“My intentions?”

“We want to know you aren’t gonna leave the Chief high and dry when you get the itch for some other kind of exotic meat,” Rocky said.

Ren blinked. She appreciated their loyalty, but this was … “I’m sorry, you think I stepped down as Inquisitor because I had an ‘itch for some exotic meat’?”

Rocky shrugged, taking a long drink, and Skinner leaned forward, her Orlesian accent even thicker than usual. “Stranger things have happened. Besides, who’s to say you didn’t just get tired of all the bullshit?”

“I know I would have,” Rocky agreed.

“I suppose I did, at that,” Ren said. “But I also valued my relationship with the Iron Bull enough that I wasn’t willing to give him up just to keep a job I wasn’t suited for anyway.” She put her mug down firmly and stood up, crossing her arms. “If you have something to say, any of you, I have two daggers that aren’t doing anything, and I’ll take on anyone who wants to see what I’m made of.”

Dalish reached up and took her by the elbow and pulled her back down onto the bench. “Keep your hair on,” she said. “We’re looking out for the Chief. None of us wants to see him get hurt.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then there’s no problem.” Rocky took another drink, emerging with his mustache dripping. “Glad to hear it.”

Ren frowned, looking around at them. She caught the eye of Grim, the big blond silent type. “What just happened here?”

He shrugged, lifted his mug, tipped it slightly in her direction, and drank. Ren took that as approval, and aped the gesture with her own mug, to the cheers of the Chargers.

“We’ll work on your nickname. It has to have a certain … elegance. It’ll take some time,” Dalish said.

“They call you Dalish,” Ren said. “How long did that take?”

The elf smiled. “You didn’t hear some of the things the Chief suggested calling me when I first joined on. Trust me, Dalish was the best choice by far.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Across the room, Ren spied Zadra coming into the tavern. She put the mug down and excused herself.

As she came near, Zadra said, “There you are, my dear. How were the Avvar?”

“How are they ever?” Ren shrugged, and they both smiled. “How has your stay been?”

“Edifying.”

“Edifying? What are you learning?”

Zadra shook her head. “That is for me to know, my friend.”

“If you’re doing anything that is going to harm the Inquisition, you know I’ll have to stop you.”

“No.” Zadra’s eyes met Ren’s. “I swear on the spilled blood of my beloved Dooley, nothing I am doing will harm you or your Inquisition.”

Ren wished she entirely believed her old friend, but if Zadra wasn’t going to be forthcoming about her reasons for being in Skyhold, how could she? “Let’s get a drink,” she said.

“A lovely idea. Will your big, beautiful man be joining us?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen much of him today.”

“No doubt he is searching for clues to your mysterious killer.” 

Ren looked sharply at the elf. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing in the least. Only that a scout was killed and all of Skyhold is waiting for your Qunari and the dwarf to solve the puzzle.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere.”

“Indeed. And yet, death is no joke.” Zadra took the cup Cabot handed her and drained it, holding it out for a refill. “No joke at all.”

“You still miss him,” Ren said softly.

“I will miss him until my dying day.” She looked at Ren, her beautiful eyes soft and sad. “Would you not feel the same?”

Ren’s breath caught in her throat at the idea. The Iron Bull, her Ashkaari, lost to her, lying dead on a battlefield? It was more than she could bear to think of. But Zadra had to think of it; she lived it, every day. “I don’t know what I would do,” she said softly. She reached out, her hand closing on her friend’s shoulder.

“Do not weep for me too copiously,” Zadra said. “I have my memories and they are worth much. But you … you should take care. Many people wish to harm the former Inquisitor, and they will not shrink from striking at you through him. It is where you are most vulnerable.”

Ren smiled. “He’s hardly vulnerable.”

“Anyone can be caught in a moment of distraction. Listening to a beautiful song, for example.” Zadra looked over her shoulder. “She is very lovely, do you not think so?”

“Maryden?” Ren turned around, studying the bard for quite possibly the first time. “I suppose.” She raised an eyebrow at Zadra, glad for the change in topic. “The real question is whether you think so.”

“It is possible that I do. Yes, quite possible.” Zadra took a sip of her fresh drink, watching Maryden. Behind her, Cabot busied himself putting things away and wiping down the counter. The Chargers were singing at the top of their lungs, a counterpoint to Maryden’s song.

And somewhere in Skyhold, despite their best efforts, a killer appeared to have gotten away with murder.


	5. Tavern

The Iron Bull had spent the first half of the day closeted with Varric, going over all the progress that hadn’t been made tracking down Harriette’s killer, and the second half with Krem, watching with amusement as his second-in-command paced back and forth, muttering to himself, occasionally panicking and searching all his pockets for the engagement ring he intended to present Flissa with.

Krem stopped in the middle of the room, groaning, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Chief, what am I doing?”

“Driving yourself up the fucking wall?”

Smiling despite himself, Krem looked up. “What if I’m not what she wants?”

“I think she’s pretty clearly proved that you are. And why wouldn’t you be? You’re a Charger.”

“You’re not helping.”

“’Course I am! Doesn’t hurt that you’re being ridiculous.”

Krem looked hurt. “Chief! I never thought you, of all people, would … I mean, just because Qunari don’t …”

The Iron Bull frowned. Then he realized what his lieutenant was getting at. “Krem, you idiot, of course I think you should marry her. You’re being ridiculous if you think she’s going to hesitate for a fucking second when you finally get your head out of your ass and ask her.”

“Oh. You think so?”

“Yeah. I think so. And you would, too, if your head was on straight.”

Krem took a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’m ready.”

“You sure? Because I think there are a few inches of floor you haven’t paced over yet.”

“Ass.”

The Iron Bull grinned, folding his arms.

Krem smiled. “Thanks, Chief. For … everything.” 

The memory of that dingy tavern hung in the air between them, of the blow that had taken the Iron Bull’s eye, of the drunken debauch with which they had celebrated the defeat of the Tevinter patrol, of all the years of working together since then. “I got the better of the exchange, Krem,” the Iron Bull said huskily.

“And don’t you forget it.” Krem winked at him before walking to the door. He stopped in front of it, taking a deep breath, and patted his pocket one last time. Apparently the ring was still there, because he opened the door and went out. The Iron Bull followed him, down the stairs and into the main room of the tavern. 

The Chargers were in fine form, drinking and laughing. Two women sat side by side with their backs to the stairs, and for a moment, the Iron Bull had to squint to determine which was his _kadan_ and which was Krem’s. Ren and Flissa had similar builds, similar hair color and style, and as Flissa spent more time with the Chargers, she was beginning to adopt Ren’s more relaxed choice of clothing as well.

Then Ren threw her head back, laughing at something Dalish had said, and the resemblance vanished. The Iron Bull followed his second-in-command down the stairs. His usual chair was waiting for him, and he sank into it with relief, stretching his legs out in front of him and accepting the mug of ale Stitches handed to him.

Krem didn’t sit. He was standing in the midst of the Chargers, fidgeting.

“Out with it,” the Iron Bull roared at his lieutenant.

“Yeah. Right. Um …” Krem stuck his hand in his pocket, clearly making one last desperate check for the ring. “Flissa?”

She nodded, looking at him with concern written in her face. “What is it?”

“I … uh …”

The Iron Bull wondered if Krem was starting to regret making this proposal in front of the Chargers. They were family, after all, but they weren’t Flissa’s family, not yet, and there was no question that all the curious eyes weren’t helping Krem’s nerves.

“I have something to ask you.”

Ren was looking between Krem and Flissa, and now her eyes brightened. She glanced at the Iron Bull, a question on her face, and he nodded. She smiled, sliding a little way down the bench to leave Flissa sitting there more or less alone.

He had been so distracted by his _kadan_ that the Iron Bull hadn’t noticed Flissa’s face. She was glassy-eyed, as though she were about to cry, but she was also stiff, as though she was frozen to the seat. The Iron Bull sat up. Something wasn’t right here.

He started to suggest that either the rest of them leave or Krem take Flissa out of the tavern, but it was too late. Krem was already down on one knee in front of Flissa, taking the ring out of his pocket.

“I never dreamed there was someone like you out there, and now that I know there is … I don’t want to spend another day without you. Flissa, will you marry me?”

Tears had filled Flissa’s eyes now, and were overflowing and making tracks down her cheeks. “Oh, Krem.” She sniffed. “I—I wish … I wish things were different, but … I’m sorry, I can’t!”

She got to her feet, pushing through the stunned knot of Chargers, and hurried out of the inn. Ren sat frozen in shock for a moment, but then was on her feet as well, chasing her friend. The Iron Bull got up, grabbed Krem by the collar, and practically hauled him along. No point in his second-in-command having to accept a bunch of awkward commiseration after that scene.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Outside, Ren found Flissa bent over, retching into a bush. She put her hands on her friend’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles there, waiting until Flissa had her tears, and her stomach, under control.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I didn’t see that coming. I should have stopped him,” Flissa gasped out between sobs.

“But I don’t understand. Why can’t you marry him?”

“Don’t you know?”

From the shadows behind them, Ren heard Ashkaari’s voice. “She’s a bard. A spy.”

“Y-Yes.”

“You’ve been spying on us? On the Inquisition?”

Flissa nodded, biting her lip to stem a fresh flow of tears.

“For whom?”

“Antiva.”

“Antiva? What do they want?”

“What everyone wants.” Ashkaari stepped out of the shadows, dragging Krem along with him. “If you look around, you’d find spies put in place here by pretty much every nation.” He gave Ren a fond smile. “The fact that you never figured that out makes it a damn good thing you chose to step down.”

“I don’t think anyone’s arguing that point,” she said dryly.

Flissa was staring at Krem. He shook his head angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t. I …”

“Come on, Krem. Not everyone hides in plain sight the way I did.” The Iron Bull nodded at her. “If I’d known it would make a difference in your answer, I’d have told him before he proposed.”

“But why does it?” Ren asked. 

Flissa looked at her as though she’d suddenly grown an extra head. “I lied. To him—and to you.”

“Because you had to.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” 

Ren smiled, nodding her head toward Ashkaari. “Where would I be if I got on my high horse about someone spying on me?” She reached out, putting a hand on Flissa’s arm. “Why not just stop? Come be a Charger. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Not that simple, _kadan_. People don’t like to give up good spies.”

His eye was on her with a hidden meaning, and Ren caught it with a sudden, painful shock. Zadra. He was trying to tell her that Zadra was here trying to kill Flissa before she could leave Antiva’s employ. 

No. She wasn’t going to believe that about her friend. And she wasn’t going to let Flissa throw her life and happiness—and Krem’s—away just because she’d been playing politics at someone else’s behest.

“Flissa.”

“No, don’t. There’s nothing to be done.”

“Yes, there is.” Krem spoke for the first time since all this had begun. He stepped out of the darkness behind the Iron Bull and took Flissa’s hand. He pulled her against him and kissed her, hard. She held herself stiffly for a moment, then melted into his embrace. “We’re going to work this out. The Chief will help us figure out a way to get you out of this mess, and you and I will go away. Marry me or don’t, but I’m not losing you over this. All right?” On the last two words a hesitance entered his voice for the first time, and Ren could see that the hand that held Flissa’s was shaking.

She melted back, away from the couple, leaving them their privacy, even as Flissa was nodding breathlessly. Ashkaari drifted with Ren, his hand finding her shoulder. 

“We are going to help her, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “If we can.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“For your sake, _kadan_ , I hope not.” But his tone was doubtful.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Footsteps in the hall outside their room at the top of the inn woke Ren and the Iron Bull in the middle of the night even before they heard the sharp rapping on their door.

As Ren fumbled to find clothing and pull it on, the Iron Bull yanked on his pants and strode to the door. “What is it?”

The servant who stood there was wide-eyed and pale with shock. “Th-there’s been another one. You’d better come quick.”

Ren's pulse pounded with alarm as she followed Ashkaari down the stairs of the tavern. There was a hush over the room, and the familiar acrid tang of blood hung in the air. 

Ashkaari stopped in the doorway, Ren colliding into his back as he drew in his breath with a sharp curse. The smell of blood was stronger in here, and Ren could see a pool of it, cold and congealed.

She looked around Ashkaari’s arm and had to stifle a cry. A tavern girl—Melody or Molly or some such name, Ren couldn’t quite recall—was propped up against the wall, her head lolling to the side at an unnatural angle. But that wasn’t where the blood was coming from. The blood came from Cabot, the bartender, whose body lay across some boxes, a gaping wound in his throat having covered him and the surrounding area with a spray of blood.

“Fuck,” Ashkaari said.

“You said it.”

Varric came in behind them and muttered some pithy words of his own.

Ashkaari knelt in front of the serving girl. “Same as before,” he said, studying her neck. “Anyone else notice the hair color? Same as yours again, _kadan_.” He studied the girl’s hair more closely. “A little darker. And fake, too. She colors it. Brick dust, maybe.” He turned around, looking up at Ren. “Could be she wanted to look like you.”

“See where it got her.” Ren felt tears sting the back of her eyes.

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe not.” Ashkaari got to his feet and started looking over Cabot’s body. “This one’s sloppy; jagged cut says she wasn’t planning to kill him.”

“My guess is he caught her with the serving girl and she had to kill him to keep him quiet.”

“She?” Ren asked. “Why are you assuming it’s a woman?”

“A man would have taken Cabot away. Leaving him here, looking like that … leaves too much information available to a careful look.”

“What about an elf or a dwarf? They wouldn’t have been able to carry him any more than a human woman. For that matter, I’d back Threnn or Cassandra in a lifting contest against Varric here, any day.” 

The Iron Bull chuckled, an incongruous sound coming from someone whose fingers were deep in the the bloody opening of a dead man’s throat. He growled in irritation a moment later, removing his fingers. “None of the blade left behind in the wound. I was hoping maybe whatever she’d used had been broken off.” He glanced at Ren over his shoulder. “You make a good point, _kadan_. This just feels like a woman’s work to me, but you’re right, we shouldn’t close off our options too quickly. In the meanwhile, you stay within arm’s reach of me at all times until we catch this … person. Understood?”

“You really think it’s me this person is after?”

“Or you they’re sending a message to. Either way, I’m not taking any chances.”

“If you insist.”


	6. Spies

Later, in their room again, Ashkaari sat on the edge of the bed, one boot off, looking at Ren seriously.

She tried to get undressed and ignore him, but the weight of that gaze pressed on her. “Out with it,” she said eventually.

“You have to face it sometime.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I know she’s your friend, _kadan_ , but look at the facts. She came here just after we found the first body—who’s to say she wasn’t here already? She’s an assassin. Probably a spy.”

“But she’s not here to threaten me!” Ren thought of the long nights after Brandt, her first love, had died in a skirmish, of Zadra and her lover Dooley taking her in and comforting her and showing her what real love looked like. “She saved me.”

“I know you think she did, and you feel an obligation.”

“No less than Krem feels to you.”

He frowned. “That’s not how it is.”

“Of course it’s not all, but you know he’s grateful to you for saving his life.”

“Not quite the same.”

“Yes and no.” Ren frowned at him. “She didn’t do it, Ashkaari.”

“Your judgment on this one is … questionable at best, _kadan_. If she isn’t behind these deaths, why did they start when she arrived? What is she doing here? For someone who came to catch up with an old friend, she hasn’t spent much time with you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Not that busy.”

They looked at each other, the Iron Bull calm in his certainty that he was right, Ren angry and frustrated.

The Iron Bull sighed. “I’m going to tell Varric about your friend Zadra, have her brought into custody.”

There was little point in arguing with him once he’d made up his mind. “At least … at least let me talk to her first.” 

He thought about it. “All right.”

Neither of them was happy with the situation, and both lay awake long into the night, not speaking to one another, lost in their own thoughts.

In the morning, Ren got up first, dressing and leaving the room before there was a chance for another argument. The tavern was subdued. Cabot had been a quiet presence, taciturn and uncommunicative, but the lack of him standing behind the bar made a remarkably big difference in the tenor of the room, even at this hour.

Maryden was singing, one of her standard set of mournful songs. This morning, at least, it seemed apt. And Zadra was hunched over the bar, a glass in front of her that looked untouched.

Ren took the seat next to her. “Just the person I was looking for.”

“Have you come to arrest me, _amiga_?”

“No.”

“But your lover, he will be, am I correct?”

“He’s giving it some serious thought,” Ren admitted. “I tried my best to talk him out of it, but …”

Zadra smiled. “He does not seem the type of man to be easily talked out of something.”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

“I am not your killer,” Zadra said.

“I didn’t think you were. But … why are you here, then? And don’t tell me you just came for a visit.”

“But I did! At least, in part. I am also here on … business.”

“What kind?”

“What do you think I did, when Dooley was … gone, and the Raiders no longer needed me? I went home to Antiva. But I had no money, no friends, no one to turn to.”

“And so you turned to …”

“I became a spy. For Antiva.”

Ren blinked. It was so obvious, and yet she had missed it entirely. “You’re here for Flissa.”

Zadra nodded. “I was sent to find out what was happening with her, and to bring her back with me.”

“For what purpose? Reassignment?”

There was sadness and a bit of reproach for her naivete in Zadra’s eyes. 

“Why? Because she failed at her task here?”

“Can you think of a better reason for a country to want to remove its own spy? When one must watch the watcher, the watcher is no longer an asset.”

“So … it could have been you. If you had mistaken both of those women for Flissa …”

“But I did not. I promise you. I have been keeping an eye on your friend, and preparing to return her to Antiva, but I did not kill anyone. Not here.”

“I believe you.”

“But will your Qunari? I have heard of him, you know. It was a terrible loss to Par Vollen when he became Tal Vashoth—and made many people in Thedas breathe more easily. And he stepped aside from all of that for you?”

“No. Not for me. For himself.”

“Of course.” Zadra’s tone said she didn’t entirely believe that.

“I can’t let you take Flissa.”

“Then we will have a problem.”

“Why don’t you stay? I’m sure the Inquisition could find a place for you.”

Zadra chuckled. “Tossing the scraps to your old companion? Or a last, desperate effort to keep me from taking your friend?”

“You haven’t taken her yet. Which makes me think you don’t want to.”

“Ren, my dear, I am Antivan. For Dooley, I was willing to forget Antiva City and the warm breezes and the scent of the ocean. But without him …” She looked away, her finger tracing the edge of her glass. “Without him I am Antivan, and I must go home.”

“But Flissa isn’t Antivan.”

“No, but she has taken our money.”

“And if I pay you back what she’s been paid?”

“Ah, they gave you a great deal of money in gratitude. For your work, or for stepping down?” Zadra’s eyes twinkled.

Ren laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. Probably a little of both. But, seriously … I’m retiring to a quiet life. I don’t need a lot of money. And Flissa and a friend of mine love each other. If what I have can buy her freedom and their happiness—well, what better use to put my money to?”

“You are a generous friend.”

“I owe her. As I do you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Come back to Antiva with me?” Zadra smiled wistfully. “I could use the companionship, and your skills.”

Ren shook her head. “I have a job.”

“As the partner to the feared Iron Bull, at the head of the Chargers?”

“Something like that. I couldn’t bear to be parted from him, and he … I doubt he’d feel comfortable in Antiva.”

Zadra laughed. “I imagine that man of yours could make himself comfortable anywhere he happened to be, but I will not dispute with you.” She looked at Ren thoughtfully for a moment. “You have grown up, my young friend, and it looks good on you. I think you will do well.”

“Some would say I already have.”

“Why dwell on the past? Look to the future. Make something of it.”

“Will I see you again?”

Slipping down from the stool, Zadra smiled. “Thedas is a remarkably small place. I would not be at all surprised.”

Ren climbed down as well. “Let’s go to Josephine right now and arrange for the transfer of funds. We’ll tell her it’s an old debt I owe you. Which is true; I owe you my life.”

“No, not a debt. You were part of us, Dooley and I. You will always be special to me because of him, and for yourself.” Zadra took Ren’s face in her hands and kissed her softly on the lips. “Take care of yourself, _amiga_.”

“You, too. I hope … I hope you find someone who can warm the long nights.”

Zadra smiled. “In Antiva, the nights are already warm. But the sentiment is appreciated. As is the money.” She raised her eyebrows and gestured toward the door.

As they passed Maryden, her voice seemed to grow louder, a touch more strident. Ren glanced at her, and the bard missed a note. She looked down at her lute, clearly flustered. Was Maryden also a spy? If so, for whom? Orlais? Ren shook her head impatiently. Suspecting everyone they met was Ashkaari’s job, and she was more than happy to leave him to it.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Ah, Tiny, whatever happened to our peaceful retirement?”

The Iron Bull chuckled. “You expected peaceful? You read too many of your own stories.”

“I just never wanted to live one. Or … another one. You know what I mean.” Varric groaned. “Is there something wrong with me that I preferred the big crazy darkspawn to random bodies popping up in unexpected places?”

“Always easier to fight a single enemy. The shadowy one you can’t see is a lot harder to deal with.”

“Do I look like I want your logic right now?”

The Iron Bull shrugged. 

“Yeah, thanks a lot. So what do we do? Hide everyone with red hair?” Varric narrowed his eyes, frowning at the Iron Bull. “You’re awfully calm, considering the resemblances those two girls had to your sidekick.”

“I only look calm. When we find this asshole, I’m going to rip her fucking arms off.”

“I’m going to pretend you mean that figuratively.”

“You do that.”

Varric leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “None of which gets us any further in figuring out who did this.”

“No. I was hoping the sloppiness of the way she killed Cabot would tell me more, but … except that she’s taller than he was, but who isn’t.” 

“Where is your partner in crime, anyway?”

“You worried about her, too?”

“Maybe. Wasn’t she supposed to stay within arm’s reach of you at all times?”

“She’s with her Antivan friend.”

Varric frowned. “You think that’s safe?”

“Ren trusts her; and I figure she’s not likely to take out the former Inquisitor in broad daylight in the middle of the tavern.”

“She’s a spy.”

“Yeah, I got that. Flissa, too.”

“I thought as much.” Varric smiled. “I don’t think she’s been very effective, not since she and Krem started dancing down the primrose path together.”

The Iron Bull sighed. “Probably should have given Krem a heads up. I thought after all this time with me, he had a better sense for these things.”

“Takes some time. And the right level of interest in people. You don’t find the details of everyone who passes by you handy, you’re probably not going to know when one of them’s a spy. Or worse, a member of the Merchants Guild.”

“Good point. Still, doesn’t get us anywhere.” The Iron Bull gave a growl of frustration. “Who is this crazy person, and what does she want with red-headed members of the Inquisition?”  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Flissa looked out the door of her little room. The rain had slackened, but it showed no sign of stopping. Skyhold’s upper courtyard was its usual sea of mud, the training yard dotted with puddles. But there was nothing for it; Krem was waiting for her in the tavern, a last-ditch effort on his part to convince her that her past didn’t matter to him any more than his past mattered to her. 

A bundle lay on her bed, hastily put together. Ren’s elf friend had come to take her back, and she would go, quietly. But she would give herself one last moment with Krem before she had to leave him.

She pulled the door closed behind her. Hands in her pockets, she trudged across the courtyard.

And then suddenly she was yanked backwards as slim, strong fingers closed around her throat. A squawk came from her before her voice was cut off, and then she was clawing at the hands on her neck, her own fingers slipping off them, wet with rain. She dug her heels into the mud, trying to slow herself, weigh herself down, make herself harder to move, but slowly, inexorably, those hands tightened on her throat.

Everything was going black now, spots and stars appearing in her vision, and Flissa knew despair. Would Krem know how much she had loved him? How sorry she was that she had ever been drawn into this game of spies, and that she hadn’t told him about it sooner?

Then, as suddenly as they had closed around her, the hands were gone. She crashed into the mud, blessed air filling her lungs. A familiar body was holding her close, a familiar and well-loved voice murmuring her name.

“Krem?” Flissa’s voice came out a hoarse croak.

“I’ve got you. I’m never letting you go. Never, you hear me?”

“Oh, Krem.” And then, lying there in the mud, in his arms, she burst into tears.


	7. Direction

“Will you all stay back and let her breathe?” Krem snapped. Flissa lay on his bed, shivering despite the warmth of the room and the blankets she was bundled in and the hot cup of tea in her hands.

Dutifully, Ren got up from the side of the bed and moved toward the wall, and Varric joined her. The Iron Bull, however, did not move. “I have to look at the marks,” he said to Flissa again, gently.

She shook her head mutely.

“Chief, come on. It can wait.”

“No, it can’t, Krem. Whoever did this is still out there, and they’re not going to stop. What if you’re not there next time?”

Krem glared at him, but there was really no arguing the point. “Fine,” he said at last, stepping aside.

The Iron Bull bent over Flissa. “Come on. Look up. I won’t touch, I promise.”

She swallowed visibly, her eyes seeking out Krem’s face. He sat down next to her, taking her hand, and she lifted her chin so they could all see the angry red marks left by the would-be killer’s hands. The Iron Bull peered closely at the marks, frowning.

“Sloppy. She’s getting impatient.”

“Attacking in the courtyard? That’s less impatient and more desperate.”

“Probably right. Because we’re closing in?” The Iron Bull glanced back at Ren over his shoulder.

“It isn’t Zadra!”

“Really. You pay her off, so she’s got no more reason to hang around, and now suddenly this attack comes? _Kadan_ , you’re going to have to face facts.”

Flissa lowered her jaw, smacking her chin on the Iron Bull’s horn. She ignored the impact, staring at Ren. “You—you paid her off?” Her voice was a hoarse croak.

“Yes. I owed her from a long time back, and I owe you, and I want you and Krem to be happy.” Ren shrugged, uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on her. “They made me take all this money, and I don’t need it, and what’s it for if I can’t use it to make people happy?”

Varric chuckled. “Rusty, if more people had that attitude, I think a lot less weird and creepy shit would happen.”

“Inquisit—I mean, Ren,” Krem said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Never thought I’d hear the day.” The Iron Bull grinned. “That mean you two are staying with the Chargers—together?”

“Chief, let’s give her a chance to—“ Krem began, but he was cut off by Flissa’s hoarse, “Yes!”

“Wait, you mean it?” he asked her.

Her eyes shining, she nodded. 

“So … you’ll marry me?”

Another nod.

“Er, Rusty, Tiny, maybe we should …” Varric suggested delicately, moving toward the door.

“Yeah, I’ve seen enough. Take it easy,” the Iron Bull said to Flissa.

Ren reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The three of them left the room, heading down the hall to the one Ren and the Iron Bull shared so they could talk more privately.

“So, Flissa this time,” Varric said. “What’s that do to your theory?”

“It’s well known that Flissa and my _kadan_ here look alike. I think we’re still looking for someone who has it in for the former Inquisitor.”

“Now that we know about Flissa’s past, what’s to stop it from being someone who was actually after Flissa all along?” Ren asked.

“You mean your elf friend.”

“No, I do not mean her! For one thing, she was supposed to take Flissa back to Antiva; she wasn’t contracted to kill her herself.”

“Which you know because she told you so.”

“And if it’s someone else and we miss it because you’re focused on Zadra? Then what? Do we lock up every redhead in Skyhold for their own protection?”

“Love to hear what the Nightingale would have said to that.” Varric grinned. “Of course, I wish she was here on general principles.”

“No movement on a replacement for her?” the Iron Bull asked.

“They’re thinking about approaching someone named Fairbanks, or so I’m told.”

“Oh, he’d be a good choice,” Ren agreed. “He ran a similar ring in the Western Approach.”

“Can’t be soon enough for me,” Varric said fervently.

“In the meantime …” Ren glanced at the Iron Bull hesitantly. “I have an idea.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her. “No.”

“It’s the best way. You’d never let anything happen to me.”

“And if I were delayed?”

“You never have been before.”

They were staring at one another, each with their arms crossed, looking immovable.

“You two need me here for this?” Varric asked.

“No,” Ren said. “We’ll tell you the plan tomorrow, with me as decoy.”

“We damned well will not be using you as a decoy,” the Iron Bull countered.

Varric quietly let himself out of the room.

“Ashkaari,” Ren said softly. “If we don’t at least try, this drags on for who knows how long, we never find out who’s behind it, Flissa and I and any other redheads in Skyhold remain in danger, and, most importantly, you and I never get out of here for our month of solitary bliss on the Storm Coast.” She stepped closer so that she was pressed against him, lifting her eyes to his. “Just think of it. The rolling waves, the sound of the surf, me naked and dripping wet …”

He growled, as much because she was right as out of arousal at the picture she painted. 

Ren smiled. “That’s more like it.” 

“Think you’re pretty clever, do you?” he asked roughly, his arms unfolding to draw her more firmly against him.

For answer, she pulled his head down to hers, kissing him hard. Ashkaari lifted her, driving her against the wall, pinning her there with his body, holding her still while he took control of the kiss, putting all his fear for her safety and his need of her, physically and emotionally, into the savagery of it. 

Her head spinning, Ren lost track of how long they kissed, and she wasn’t aware of her clothes being hastily stripped from her until she was on the mattress moaning beneath him as he thrust inside her. The peak came quickly for them both, and they lay there panting together.

Once he had his breathing under control, the Iron Bull asked, “When did you intend to put your brilliant plan into action?”

“Brilliant, am I, now?” She grinned at him.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Yes, ser.” She tried to suppress the smile, but couldn’t quite manage. “No sense waiting around, don’t you think? Let’s get this problem out of the way—we’ll do it in the morning.” Ren rubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear her head. “In the wee small hours, before everyone else is up.”

“Where?”

“Whoever this is, they’ve struck at the stables, in the tavern, and in the courtyard. You think they’ll hit again in the same place?”

“If it’s empty. Stables, then?”

“Probably the best location.”

“ _Kadan_ , there are other ways.”

Ren shook her head. “None as quick and decisive. Besides, none of the others this person attacked have my experience in combat. Especially if they’re getting desperate and not thinking as clearly, they’ll be much easier for me than they were for any of the others.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” He still didn’t look happy.

“How about if I give you something else to think about? After all, we’ve got to do something to keep ourselves awake until it’s time to put my plan in action.” Ren climbed on top of him, leaving no question as to her intentions.

“I do like the way you think,” he murmured as she found his mouth with hers.

Hours later, Ren left the tavern, hands in her pockets, wandering as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Skyhold was quiet at this hour, very few people up and about. A light burned high on the battlements in Cullen’s office, and a couple of sentries patrolled the walls, but otherwise she was alone in the muddy courtyard.

It wasn’t until she was halfway across the lower courtyard on her way to the stables that she felt the prickling on the back of her neck that said someone was following her. Careful not to alter her stride, trusting that Ashkaari would be there in case anything went wrong, she continued on into the stables. 

Blackwall’s workshop was abandoned, his tools neatly put away and the last shavings of wood swept up. Ren paused there only briefly, wondering how he was faring amongst the Grey Wardens—had he found fulfillment there, where he and the real Blackwall had always intended him to go? Or had his demons followed him there, too?

She continued through to the stables, the horses shifting restlessly as she walked down the aisle between the stalls. Usually they were quiet for her, used to her presence, so she knew her shadow must still be with her. Tension was rising in her; she wanted the shadow to attack, wanted this over once and for all.

Ren concentrated one putting on foot in front of the other, on not letting the tension show in her gait or her posture.

And then it came, strong fingers curving around her throat.

Panic took her as the fingers closed off her airway, her hands flying up to claw at them, desperate to get them off. 

As suddenly as they had come, the hands were pried off her. Ren gasped for breath, her heart pounding. She turned to find a cloaked and hooded figure, hands held wide apart above her head by the Iron Bull. 

“Do the honors, _kadan_?”

“With pleasure.” She ripped the hood off, and stared into the angry face of Maryden the bard.

The Iron Bull groaned. “I should have known. That cut on Cabot’s throat—I thought it was sloppy because she’d been surprised.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. It was extra savage. Cabot wasn’t a fan of her music. To put it mildly.”

“Did you hear what he called my songs? Dirges! My music, beautiful, thoughtful, tender—and he said it was only good for a funeral!” Maryden spat.

Ren raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you wanted to kill me, too?”

“You?” Maryden grunted with contempt. “What would be the point. No market for ex-Inquisitors.” She raked her gaze up and down Ren’s body. “Everyone knew you couldn’t handle the job.”

The Iron Bull growled, his grip on Maryden’s wrists tightening, but Ren shook her head. “It’s the truth, after all. I couldn’t handle it.” She frowned at the bard. “But … if not me, then—Flissa. You were after Flissa all along.”

“Yeah.” The Iron Bull looked down at Ren, something dark and unusually hidden in his eye. “I would’ve known, too, if I hadn’t thought—“ 

“The famed Qunari spy, too lovesick to think straight.” Maryden chuckled. “Made my job a lot easier.”

“That’s big talk for someone who failed every time she tried,” Ren pointed out. 

Maryden didn’t have a response to that. She glared ineffectually, not even bothering to struggle in the Iron Bull’s grip.

“So this was all about Flissa’s spying for Antiva?” Ren asked, looking up at the Iron Bull.

“I don’t think so. Maryden may be a spy for someone, Orlais or Ferelden, probably, but if every spy went around killing all the spies from other nations Thedas would be a lot bloodier.”

“Which is saying something.”

“Exactly.” He shook Maryden a little. “Might as well out with it. Last time you’re gonna have an interested audience for a long time.”

She twisted suddenly in his grip, trying to turn enough to kick him, but he held her firmly. “She took something from me, all right? Something I … Never mind. Leave it at that.”

Ren’s eyes widened. “Krem? Is this over Krem?”

Maryden didn’t answer, but something flashed in her eyes that told Ren she had guessed right. 

Looking up at the Iron Bull, Ren said, “Let’s never tell him. I don’t think … it wouldn’t be fair for him to have to bear that burden. It isn’t his fault, but—he’d feel like it was.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, let’s take her to the Inquisitor. His first chance to sit in judgment.” Ren smiled. “Not part of the job I miss at all, but today … I wouldn’t mind coming up with a fitting punishment for her. I wonder if you can magically silence a voice.”

Maryden made a strangled sound of protest, and Ren nodded. 

“Be glad I’m not still Inquisitor. And hope that Morris is nicer than I am.”

They dragged her to the main keep, shocked whispers following them. Maryden was a fixture at Skyhold, had been with them since Haven.

Josephine didn’t waste a moment in setting up the trial. Morris looked nervous as he stepped up onto the dais and took the seat for the first time, but there was no sign of any lack of confidence when Maryden was led before him.

She glared at him defiantly, no sign of contrition in her face or her bearing.

“Maryden the bard,” Morris said sorrowfully, “you were one of us. We trusted you; we learned to know your music and we were uplifted by it, moved by it. No longer. You will be taken from here to a chantry in Lothering, in southern Ferelden, where you will end your days as a sister in the faith, your voice raised only to sing the Chant and the praises of the Maker. Your gift will be an emblem of His glory, in memory of His Bride, whose song has so much meaning for us all.”

Ren, standing in the back, bit her lip hard to keep from commenting aloud. That say this was no punishment she would ever have assigned was an understatement; but it was a fitting punishment for Maryden, exiled to Ferelden’s backwater, an area still struggling even now to recover from the Blight, condemned to sing only the Chant rather than her own carefully crafted songs. And it certainly represented a new direction for the Inquisition under Morris’s leadership. That she had fundamental disagreements with that direction no longer mattered, she told herself fiercely. Not at all.

A big hand dropped to her shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she looked up into Ashkaari’s face, seeing an understanding there of her feelings, and an agreement. She put her hand over his, smiling. Now, as soon as they settled things in the Frostback Basin, they were free to start their lives together. That was the important part.


	8. Inquisitor

The Avvar were glad to have them back, welcoming the Inquisition group with open arms and a feast. The Jaws of Hakkon had continued to raid in their absence, but the Inquisition camps that had been set up during their last visit had helped to keep them at bay.

They took a boat across the lake to the island where Professor Kenric had hoped to find traces of a battle, and found more than they had expected. The island was a home to spirits, and they were restless, wandering and whispering promises and lies.

The Iron Bull hated it. It seemed like everywhere Morvoren went, spirits clustered, and he would be more than happy never to see another spirit, or demon, or weird shit of any kind, for the rest of his life.

In the center of the island was a rift, where sorrow lay thick and spoke with the voice of one long-forgotten. Ren and Morris questioned the voice, the vanishing shadows that were all that remained of the first Inquisitor’s Dreamer lover, and then Ren closed the rift and gave the spirit peace.

The Avvar looked at them curiously when they came back. Apparently everyone who went to the island came back changed in some way. The Iron Bull wondered what changes they had undergone. He didn’t feel personally too affected, but Dorian was thoughtful, his eyes a thousand miles away, and Morris looked as though the weight of the Inquisition was suddenly pressing down on him harder than he had expected it would. Ren was quiet, her brows knit together in a frown, and he wondered what she was thinking. That frown could mean any number of things. But whatever it meant, she would tell him in her own time; he trusted her not to hold back. He trusted her in many ways, more than he’d ever trusted anyone in his life, which frankly, was pretty damn scary, and he tried not to think about it, focusing instead on each day and what that brought. Which was also scary, for someone used to playing a long game and staying one or two moves ahead of everyone around him.

“Crap,” he growled. That island had gotten to him after all.

Ren glanced at him, but didn’t ask. Her hand reached for his, its dexterous scarred fingers wrapping around his. They were climbing the path to the Avvar hold, where another feast no doubt awaited them. Say whatever else you would about the Avvar, they knew how to eat.

Thane Sun-Hair was waiting for them at the top. “You found something.”

“Yes. Inquisitor Ameridan’s lover.” Ren glanced at Morris, lifting her eyebrows.

“Oh. Yes. Thane Sun-Hair, the Inquisition is formally requesting the assistance of your hold in storming the fortress; we think the Inquisitor’s remains may lie in the ice inside.”

“You may be right. That structure has been iced over for all of living memory—and for as far back as our tales go.” She looked at Ren. “You did good work finding the way to break that ice. You have fought our enemies, you have eaten our food, you have passed our trial. We find you worthy of our aid—and we would be glad to see the backs of the Hakkonites ourselves. Tell us when you plan to launch the attack, and we will be there.”

“Thank you.” Ren glanced at Morris. “Robert?”

“We attack tomorrow, at dusk.”

Thane Sun-Hair smiled, a warlike smile that the Iron Bull heartily approved of. “Very good, Inquisitor.”

The following night, they moved against the structure. The Avvar scaled the walls and took care of the archers, and then the Inquisition forces attacked the gates. Inside was cold; beyond cold. The Iron Bull had never felt anything like it. The chill went deep into the bones, sapping the will to move. Fires were lit in various places throughout, and you could get warm briefly by the fire, but the heat didn’t penetrate. He felt sluggish and thick, as though everything in him was slowly turning to ice.

Morris and Ren, being from the southern countries, were slightly less affected than he and Dorian, but they were both small and relied on their nimbleness, so it was harder for them to push through.

Deep within the fortress, the Jaws of Hakkon were conducting a ritual. Somewhere in his mind, the part that wasn’t freezing, the Iron Bull knew that they had to stop that ritual. The fact that he no longer remembered why didn’t matter; he knew what was in front of him, and that was a fight. The bloodlust coursed through him, the massive surge of exhilaration that came with having something to battle, and for a moment he was almost warm again.

He used that moment to his advantage, charging in and swinging his massive blade in a frenzy of blows against the Jaws of Hakkon, attacking the chanting mages first. Magic blows of cold hit him, and he fought against them, willing his feet to continue moving and his arms to continue striking.

Dimly he was aware of movement at his side, a blur of red that was his _kadan_ ’s shining hair. She was on her feet, then, darting in and out amongst the mages. A green light lit the room, and he realized that she was using the power of the Anchor to attack the Hakkonites, the mystical energy forcing them to their knees in pain.

Above his head, he heard a cracking sound, and he looked up, only then realizing that high overhead hovered a dragon, frozen into ice. And what a dragon. Cruel and predatory even in its stasis, its wingspan filling the room. The Iron Bull blinked his good eye, trying to clear the haze of combat and cold from his vision so that he could focus on the small thing just in front of the massive dragon. It was a man. An elf. Kneeling there in front of the dragon, locked in ice along with it. The Jaws of Hakkon were setting the dragon free, and the elf would be set free along with it, he realized. 

And, further, he saw that it was too late to stop it. The Hakkonites were down, but a fine spiderweb of cracks was racing along the ice, and beneath it the dragon was moving, shifting. Its shrill cry echoed through the room and they all covered their ears against it as it reverberated off the ice-coated surfaces.

Ren tried to move forward, tried to reach the dragon before it could get itself free entirely, but the pain in her head was too much. The dragon beat its mighty wings and burst forth from the ice. With another ear-splitting cry, it shot up through the crumbling ceiling and was gone, set free upon the world.

“We have to get to it,” she said desperately, but she was so cold. 

The elf stood, looking at them all curiously. “If you are here, then Hakkon has been set free.”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Ren said to him. “I tried to stop it.”

“It was only a matter of time,” he assured her.

“You are Inquisitor Ameridan?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Ren, and this is Robert. We are the current and former Inquisitors.”

Ameridan nodded, wearily. “Ah. And how many have there been?” 

“Only we three, as Inquisitors go, but the years—“

“How many?”

“A thousand,” Ren whispered, wishing she didn’t have to tell him.

“Telana?”

That was the name of his lover. Ren swallowed, debating whether to tell him or not. But he deserved the truth. “She waited for you, until she lapsed into a dream. Her spirit is at rest now.”

“Thank you.” He blinked, slowly, his energy fading. “It will not be long now. I used … I used everything I had to hold the dragon.”

“You did well. Would—Would you like me to tell you about the world?”

“No. Let me imagine it as I hoped it would be.” He gazed at her inquisitively. “I assume it’s not as I hoped it would be.”

The Iron Bull shrugged. “It could be worse.”

“There is that. I suppose it is some comfort.” Ameridan looked at Ren, and then at Robert, and then back at Ren, and he spoke to her.

That was the way it always would be, until they left the Inquisition entirely, the Iron Bull thought. Whatever leadership was, Ren had it; or maybe what she had was an air of confidence, a promise that she would do her best to get things done, an energy. Morris didn’t have that. He had other things, and those things would come to the fore as he grew as a man and a leader, but Ren had to leave in order for that to happen. The Iron Bull made a promise to himself that once this was done, he would take her away and not allow anything else to delay their departure.

Still looking at Ren, Ameridan asked, “You will deal with the dragon?”

“I will.”

“You will win?”

“I will.”

He closed his eyes, nodding, his words a mere breath. “I believe you.” Slowly, he eased himself to the ground, and lay back. His chest rose and fell once, twice more, and then he was still.

“Damned impressive,” the Iron Bull said.

“Once this is over, we will care for him the way he would have wanted,” Morris promised. He shivered. “But for now, we have to get out of here before we’re no longer able to finish what he started.”

They all followed him through the fortress, their steps slower now, the ebb of the exhilaration of combat combining with the cold to sap their remaining energy.

The Avvar of Stone-Bear Hold and the Inquisition people were waiting for them as they emerged, with warm drinks and blankets and hot fires, all of which were gratefully accepted.

Thane Sun-Hair came to sit with them, squatting before the fire with a steaming mug of their special herbal brew in her hands. “The dragon will not wait,” she said somberly.

“No,” Ren agreed.

“When will you be ready?”

Holding her hands out in front of her, Ren flexed them. The fingers still felt chilled, not as quick or nimble as usual, and there was cold still deep inside her in the pit of her stomach. Still … “Within the hour,” she said decisively. Only then did she remember to look at Morris for his say-so; she needed to leave the Inquisition soon, she knew, because he would never truly be in charge until she was no longer there for others to look to.

Head down over his mug, Morris hardly looked in any shape to make decisions. But he rallied, lifting his head. “Yes. Within the hour,” he agreed, although his voice was a hoarse croak and the hands that held the cup still trembled.

The Iron Bull got to his feet with a groan, throwing the blanket back off his shoulders. He had never felt less like fighting a dragon in all his life; but the dragon was there to be fought, and he wasn’t about to let it be said that the Iron fucking Bull failed to meet a challenge from a dragon. “Come on, then,” he growled. “Let’s kill this thing.”

“Fine words, my friend.” Dorian ran a hand over his face. “Someday, I am going home to Tevinter and staying there until I forget what cold feels like.” He glanced at Morris, affection in his face. “Someday.” Getting up, he held out a hand to Morris, who took it in his. The Iron Bull looked away from the two men. As certainly as this fight with the dragon spelled the end of him and Morvoren in the Inquisition, it spelled the end of the relationship between Morris and Dorian. They knew that, had known it since Morris took the job, but knowing it and actually going through with it were two different things. 

The Iron Bull didn’t envy them. He had been prepared to walk away and leave his Inquisitor, to let her climb as high as she could climb, and he would have done it … but it would have broken his heart into pieces.

His _kadan_ looked up at him now, summoning a smile. “Another dragon.”

“Another fucking dragon.” He pulled her up, holding her against him. “Next time we fight one of these things, it’ll be just you and me and that glorious _ataashi_ , and I’ll take you on her bloody corpse.”

Another woman might have found that disturbing, but his Morvoren just smiled up at him. “Now there’s a thought to get the blood going. I’m much warmer now.”

“My plan exactly.”

The Avvar of Stone-Bear Hold had been tracking the dragon, although they had stayed far back from it. The Iron Bull supposed he didn’t blame them—few people were prepared to face a dragon—but it was their dragon, after all, with their god inside it, according to their traditions. He hoped they would lend a hand when the Inquisition went forward.

They passed Professor Kenric, who was scribbling something in a book while he walked, looking entirely too happy. Nothing in that book was going to take down the dragon, though, or fully describe Ameridan’s ages-long sacrifice. Scholars were an important thing to have in a society, but at the end of the day, you needed to be a person of action, too. Kenric would never truly understand the past the way he thought he did if he didn’t get his hands into the dirt and the blood of the present occasionally.

Scout Harding, now. She left Kenric behind and hurried with the rest of the Inquisition team. She had the heart of a lion in that small dwarven body; the Iron Bull felt heartened to have her along with them.

The dragon had created a world of ice where only a few days before had been a lake. Its breath was powerful, then. They would have to be nimble to stay out of its way.

It could see them coming, and it roared an unmistakable challenge.

“The gods need to be reborn once in a while or they become unmanageable,” Thane Sun-Hair remarked. “This one needs a right good rebirthing.” She clutched the pike she carried grimly. “And I’m just the one to give it to him.”

“We,” the Iron Bull corrected her.

“We, then,” she agreed, and then the fray had begun.

The dragon’s shriek was less piercing outdoors than it had been inside the temple, but it was still difficult to do anything but cover one’s ears while it was happening. Arrows had a hard time piercing the hide, those with blades could only come near for a moment before the dragon whirled and sent its chilling breath in their direction.

It wasn’t necessarily the toughest dragon the Iron Bull had ever fought … but it was the least fun.

In order to break the dragon’s focus as well as do more damage to it, Ren raised her hand to the sky and called down the power of the Anchor, the green light fighting against the blue reflected off the ice. The dragon screamed in pain, less ear-splitting than its war-shriek, and it lashed out with its claws in Ren’s direction. Thane Sun-Hair was in its way, and Ren dove for her just in time, pushing her out of the way. The dragon’s claws raked over Ren’s body, the pain excruciating. She thought dizzily that the blood was almost a relief, so warm on her cold flesh, and then darkness fell around her.

When she woke, she was tucked under warm furs in a comfortable cot, the smell of meat cooking making her stomach rumble.

“There she is,” said Ashkaari, his voice filled with relief. “I knew the food would bring you back.” He bent over her, nuzzling her cheek. “Don’t do that to me again, _kadan_ ,” he whispered.

“I’ll do my best.” Ren could feel that her wounds had been healed, but her side was still tender. She could already hear Dorian telling her she needed to rest and take things easy. She lifted a hand, stroking Ashkaari’s cheek. “You finished off the dragon.”

“’Course we did. Less fun without you, though.” He didn’t tell her how his heart had seized in his chest at the sight of her red blood melting the ice around her body, or how the distraction would have landed him next to her if Scout Harding hadn’t been there and shot an arrow into the dragon’s open mouth before it could breathe on him. Or how Morris had entirely lost his head and run screaming at the dragon in a display of bravery, or insanity, as impressive as any the Iron Bull had ever seen. The Avvar, too, had stepped up their already impressive skills, forming a phalanx in front of Ren’s body so that Dorian could be protected while he healed her, in their gratitude that she had saved their Thane.

And at last, between them all, the dragon had gone down to defeat. It was the first time they had killed a dragon together that they hadn’t come together afterward in a tangle of sweaty bodies and lust, but she had lived, and that was the important part. She was here with him now, and he was never going to let her go again.

Her stomach rumbled once more, and she chuckled. “Sorry to ruin your moment.”

“There’ll be others. You want something to eat?”

“More than … almost anything.” She winked at him.

“Later, _kadan_. You have to be in peak condition to ride the Bull.”

“I’ll have to get back in training sometime.”

“Oh, we’ll get you back in shape, don’t worry about that.” He brought her a plate of meat and bread, which she tackled with gusto. “Sooner rather than later, you keep eating like that.”

“Good. How are the Avvar?”

“You mean our new kin? They’ve decided that our assistance, particularly you saving Sun-Hair’s life, means we have the heart of Avvars and we’re now kin to their hold.”

“That sounds nice. You want to move here instead of the Storm Coast, spend our lives fighting alongside our newfound brothers and sisters?”

“Tempting, but no. I want you all to myself.”

“Good. Let’s get me out of this bed, get back to Skyhold, have the biggest party ever, and then slip out in the dead of night before anyone can stop us.”

He was unable to resist her; he dipped his head to kiss her red lips. “I like the way you think, _kadan_.”


	9. Celebration

Bidding an affectionate farewell to the Avvar, they returned to Skyhold. As she sat her horse watching the gates open for her, Ren wondered if this was the last time she would ride into the familiar courtyard. Realistically, she imagined she would be back at some point, but she didn’t intend that to be soon. Morris needed to stand on his own two feet; she needed space and time away from her former life as an Inquisitor, time to settle into a new life as a happily settled merc.

She caught Ashkaari’s eye, and saw that he was thinking something similar. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and she smiled back. A message had been sent ahead to Varric about their plans for their final farewell party; Ren suspected it would be Varric’s, as well. As she handed the reins to a waiting groom and swung down from the saddle, she saw the dwarf waiting for her at the entrance to the keep.

“Hey, Rusty, you’re back,” he said as she came up to him.

“For now. You got my message?”

“You kidding? Of course I did.” He grinned. “They’ll never know what hit them.”

“You think it’s too much?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“No. I think it’s just the kick in the ass they need.”

“Good.” Ren grinned. “What do you need from me?”

Varric looked offended. “Please. You just enjoy your day in Skyhold, and leave everything else to me.”

Ren frowned. “How did you know?”

“I think I’m the one who told you you’d have to sneak away in the dead of night if you were really serious about going.”

“You might have been, at that. I’m going to miss you, Varric.”

“Ditto, Rusty. Ditto.” He cleared his throat. “Now, one of us has a party to prepare.”

She took the hint and left him there, climbing the stairs to the main keep. The Inquisitor had passed her on his way to his own quarters, and she climbed the familiar steps and knocked at the door.

The room looked different, more sparse and efficiently organized than when she had lived there, the desk practically groaning under the weight of the papers piled there.

“You’re not who I expected,” Morris said.

“Cullen, right?” 

“Actually, Josephine, with piles of things for me to read over that came while we were gone.”

“Good point.” Ren walked out onto the balcony, her fingertips dragging along the wall; she and Ashkaari had made love against that wall quite a few times. 

“You miss it?” Morris asked, following her. 

“Not really. I just … wanted to make sure you’re going to be all right.”

“You know, I think I will be. Terrified, but a little terror can be good for a person.” He smiled. “Motivational.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

He hesitated, then said, “Dorian’s planning to go back to Tevinter. I … think it’s probably for the best, but …”

“Not yet?” Ren looked at him with sympathy. 

Morris nodded. “Not yet.”

“If I know Dorian, he won’t leave until you’re ready to let him go.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” He frowned thoughtfully at her. “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good for you. You’ve earned it.” He smiled. “And I think the Iron Bull was going to explode if it took much longer.”

Ren chuckled. “He might have, at that.”

“And no one wants to clean up that mess.”

They both laughed at that. “Glad to see this job hasn’t sucked away your sense of humor yet,” Ren said. “Anything you want me to look at before I give it up for good?”

Morris looked around at the desk, clearly considering the question. At last he shook his head. “No, I think I’m good. Take care of yourself.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she assured him.

She left him feeling good about her decision. The Inquisition would be in very competent hands with Morris at the helm, far better than if she had stayed on, and he would grow with the job. She closed the door to her former quarters behind her with a sigh, feeling that finally the burden had been lifted off her shoulders once and for all.

Dorian was waiting for her in the keep. “I thought you’d go and see him.” He sighed unhappily. “I wish I didn’t feel I had to go.”

“You’ll stay until he gets his feet firmly underneath him?” she asked.

“Yes. I owe him, and you, and the Inquisition, at least that much. You’ll take care of yourself? And that big mountain you’re chained to?”

Ren grinned at the description. “As much as he’ll let me.”

“Which is not at all.”

“Mostly true.” She tucked an arm into Dorian’s. “Buy a girl a drink while we still have the chance?”

“My pleasure.”

She didn’t tell him how much she would miss him; he knew. 

They shared a drink in the tavern, melancholy stealing over them. Ren reflected it was about time she left, if this was how things were going to go as long as she was still in Skyhold. 

Upstairs, she found Ashkaari in the midst of shoving things into packs, with utter disregard for folding or neatness. “That the Ben-Hassrath way to pack?” she asked him.

“Matter of fact, it is. A neat packing job says a lot about the packer. Shove things in wherever there’s a space, it just says you’re a slob, and people discount the intelligence of a slob.”

“Well, that explains a lot.”

He chuckled. “Didn’t realize I was still such a mystery.”

“You have your moments.” She crossed the room to him, sliding her arms around his waist. “And I look forward to looking into every crevice and dark space you have.”

Ashkaari cupped her face gently with one big hand. “You sure about that, _kadan_? There are a lot of them.”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Good.” He bent toward her and kissed her tenderly. “Same goes for me.”

“Really? I have crevices and dark spaces?”

“Well … not so many. But a couple.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to be boring.”

He laughed at that. “I can’t imagine you ever boring, my Morvoren.”

Ren stood up on her tiptoes, lifting herself into another kiss. And another, and another, until they were both breathing hard. Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the window, the orange of the sunset blazing outside. Reluctantly, she pushed him away. “No time to finish this, I’m afraid. The party’s going to start soon, and we want to be ready for our parts.”

He growled low in his throat, sneaking one more kiss before stepping back entirely. “Good point, _kadan_. And you have to finish packing.”

“Not much to do. Most of it’s already at the Storm Coast, and I haven’t unpacked from the Frostback Basin, so there isn’t a lot left.” 

“Still, let’s get to it. I don’t want to waste another minute after the party’s over.”

“Yes, ser.” Ren grinned at him before turning to finish her packing.

Most of the Inquisition was assembled in the main keep when they walked in. As Ren paused in the doorway, the room broke out in cheers. She flushed, still not quite used to the adulation. Briefly she thought of Lucas Hawke, who had been living a life of blissful piracy for years now; he had told her he got used to being looked up to about the time it stopped. She wondered if he ever missed it, if somewhere down the road she would miss it. 

The Inquisition, first at Haven and now at Skyhold, had been the first place she had ever chosen to stay, and these people had encircled her, supported her, allowed her to accomplish things she had never even dreamed of. She was grateful to them for that—and for their generosity in letting her go.

She waved her arms above her head, smiling at them all. “Thank you!” she called when she thought she had an off chance of making herself heard. “Thank you all, for everything. I will miss you, and Skyhold, very much.”

Everyone was quiet, and she wondered if there was really more she needed to say. Hadn’t she pretty much said it all, at one point or another?

Standing there in their silence, she took a deep breath. “Well, what are you all waiting for? Let’s get this party going!”

They didn’t wait to be asked again. Almost before the last word left her lips, the music had begun and people were moving onto the dance floor. Ashkaari grabbed her hand and pulled her with him, and Ren let the beat move in her blood.

The dancing went on for a while, and then Ren felt a tug on her sleeve and turned to see Varric there. “Time, Rusty,” he said, pitching his voice loudly enough to be heard over the music and the pounding of the dancers’ feet.

“Already?”

“We want to give everyone plenty of celebrating time. And not enough time to slip away,” he added, with a meaningful glance at the objects of the surprise they had planned.

Ren followed his gaze. “I see your point.” Krem and Flissa looked as though they were planning to head back to their room, and that would have spoiled everything. “Lead the way.”

“Not my usual style, but I’ll try it for a change.”

It would have seemed a dwarf should be hard to follow through a room full of taller bodies dancing, but everyone made way for Varric without even having to be asked. He should have been the Inquisitor, Ren thought with amusement.

They arrived at the chair on the dais, the chair where Ren would never sit in judgment again, she thought with a sense of relief. That part she wouldn’t miss. Varric nodded to her, and she nodded to Ashkaari. He grinned down at both of them, and then, stretching himself to the fullness of his great height, he called out over the noise of the crowd, “Attention! Cremisius Aclassi, front and center! Mistress Flissa, front and center! Make way!”

Krem and Flissa threaded through the crowd to stand in front of Ren and the Iron Bull. “Chief?” Krem asked, looking up at his boss with some trepidation.

“Don’t look at me, Krem de la Crème. This is all them.” He tipped a horn in Varric and Ren’s direction.

“Ren?” 

“Welcome to your wedding day.” Ren grinned widely at Flissa’s evident shock. “What, you didn’t think I was going to ride off into the sunset without making sure you were hitched good and proper, did you? What would the Chargers be without you?”

“I’ll drink to that,” came Rocky’s unmistakable voice over the crowd.

In the general chuckle that followed, Ren took Krem and Flissa’s hands. “As it happens, as a former Inquisitor, I have license to join two people in wedlock, and I choose to exercise that license for the first and last time today. Krem, Flissa, do the two of you wish to marry one another?”

They both looked questioningly at each other, seeming to find comfort in each other’s eyes. “Yes,” Krem said. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re sure?” Flissa asked him softly.

“Never been more sure of anything,” he assured her.

“In that case, then, yes.”

“Good.” Ren held their hands more tightly. “Do you promise to love one another faithfully all the days of your life?”

“We do.”

“To meet all life’s challenges together, to support one another and tend one another through illness and injury?” Ren was making this up as she went along, hoping she was covering all the expected promises.

“We do.”

“Then … I pronounce you wedded to one another, and I wish you good health and a long and happy life together!”

The room cheered as Krem and Flissa looked at each other in confusion, clearly having expected more vows and promises.

“Dumbass, kiss her,” the Iron Bull bellowed. “I’ve never been to one of your ceremony things before, and even I know that’s what comes next.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Krem said dryly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He turned to Flissa, taking her free hand, and pulled her close, kissing her softly on the lips to more cheers and catcalls.

“Inquisition! I ask for your promise, too,” Ren said, when the noise had died down enough for her to be heard. “I ask you to promise to follow Inquisitor Morris, to support and protect him, to work your hardest to keep this Inquisition together and make it a force for good in Thedas.”

She met Cullen’s eyes, and he smiled, stepping forward out of the crowd. He drew his sword and lifted it high above his head. “Inquisition, will you promise?”

The chorus of “ayes” nearly deafened Ren, and she blinked against the tears that prickled in her eyes. These were her people—she had built this, brought them together, and she would be leaving Morris with something strong, something that could survive whatever was to come. Turning to Ashkaari, she reached for his hand. 

Under cover of the sounds of their people, she said softly, for his ears only, “You ready?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d never ask, _kadan_."

The party went on, the Inquisition celebrating into the night. Long before it ended, the former Inquisitor and her lover were on the road heading down from the mountain, riding together into their future.


End file.
